The Princely Pardon
by paganpunk2
Summary: It's time for Alfred to slaughter the fresh turkey that has been the centerpiece of every Wayne Manor Thanksgiving since the holiday's inception. But where did it go? And more importantly, where is Dick? Flufftastic holiday goodness! K for language. Part of the Spark in the Dark series.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Okay, readers, I'm going out on a limb here and trying to write two stories at once. For those of you reading 'To Catch A Predator,' you will continue to get daily chapters. This story will be much shorter, and my goal is to have it completely up on or before Thanksgiving. **

**Fair warning, this is going to be fluffier than a freshly washed and dried (unsheared) sheep sitting on a pile of Egyptian cotton bath towels. Enjoy!**

"Alfred!"

The butler straightened, turned around, and smiled softly as an energetic shock of raven hair bounded across the back lawn towards him. "Good morning, Master Dick," he greeted as the nine year old slid to a stop in front of him. "You must have rather serious news, to be outside in this cold in your pajamas, and without a jacket." His eyes traveled lower, and he frowned, clucking his tongue. "And in slippers, no less."

"They cancelled school, today _and_ tomorrow!" the boy informed him, so excited that Alfred's words barely registered. "I just heard it on the radio! You know what that means? _Two weeks straight_ with only three school days! And it's supposed to snow a ton more!"

"Exciting happenings indeed, young sir. However, I rather doubt that you want to spend your unanticipated days of freedom sick in bed."

"Well, no. I want to spend them _outside_, playing." His expression suggested that he would have expected Alfred to know as much but that he was too polite to say so.

"In that case, I would advise that we move indoors and get you properly attired before you catch your death of cold." He stepped forward, intending to carry the child back to the manor to keep his feet from getting wetter, but before he could bend down a raucous noise erupted from the small shed behind him.

"…Was that a turkey?!" Dick asked, peeking around.

"Yes," the butler admitted, taking advantage of the fact that the boy had stopped his perpetual bouncing out of momentary shock to lift him into his arms.

"Can I see it?" he wriggled around, looking back over Alfred's shoulder in an attempt to get a glimpse of the creature. "I like birds."

"You can see it later, once you've breakfasted and dressed for the weather."

"Why do we even _have_ a turkey? Bruce isn't an animal person."

"No, Master Wayne has never been one for pets. However, he _is_ a proponent of having a fresh main course for Thanksgiving dinner."

"…You mean you…you're going to kill it?"

His voice had shifted so swiftly from curious elation to insightful mourning that the Englishman came to a halt halfway up the steps and looked at him closely. "Does that bother you, Master Dick?" he queried gently. _I wouldn't be surprised if it does; eight months is hardly enough time for a child to adjust to the stark realities of death, especially when those truths have been thrust upon them with unfair swiftness._

"…I dunno," he answered hesitantly. "Kind of, I guess. But…how else could we eat them?" he reasoned. "I don't think I'd be a very good vegetarian, Alfred," he added thoughtfully. "I like hot dogs and chicken wings too much."

The butler's mouth quirked upwards even as he shuddered at the thought of hot dogs. _The things this child has been allowed to ingest,_ he bemoaned, remembering his surprise when he'd learned several weeks before that not only had the young master partaken of foods as diverse as pig's trotters, spicy curry, and raw fish, he'd enjoyed almost all of it. "When, pray tell, have you ever eaten a chicken's wing?" he queried, continuing up the stairs.

"Bruce ordered them with our pizza last weekend when you were out of to-" he stopped, clapping both hands over his mouth. "…I wasn't supposed to say anything," he moaned through his fingers. "Please don't get mad, if you yell at Bruce he'll never let me stay up late and watch vio-"

If his eyes opened any wider, the butler was sure they would fall out. _And wouldn't that be a joy to explain to Child Protective Services._

"I mean, if you yell Bruce will be angry with me and won't let me to go to bed just a few minutes after I'm supposed to. And he won't let me have any…um…milk." _I am so busted, _he thought_._

"Well, Master Dick," the Englishman replied gravely, "I assure you that in the event that Master Wayne ever does cut you off from…milk, was it, that you were so concerned about?...I will be happy to act as your illicit supplier." He set him down inside the foyer and knelt to brush flakes of snow from the boy's hair, running his hand along the silken tresses a few more times than was strictly necessary.

"…You're not going to yell at him?" he asked hopefully.

"Perhaps just once. Briefly."

From the look in the man's eyes, Dick knew he was being teased. "Thanks, Alfred!" he squealed, throwing his arms around his neck for an instant before scampering up the stairs to change out of his pajamas.

"Whoa!" Bruce stopped a few risers down from the top as the child barreled towards him going full speed. Dick, ever agile, darted expertly past, but his guardian spun and managed to snag him, lifting him the short distance to the upstairs hallway and holding him in place with two heavy hands. "Watch where you're going. You'll break your neck doing that. Or mine," he added wryly. "…Why are your clothes wet?" he asked a heartbeat later, dampness seeping into his palms where they rested on the boy's shoulders.

"I was outside. It's snowing," he shrugged.

"Why were you outside in your pajamas?"

"I had to tell Alfred that school's cancelled. Alfred was outside."

"…Go get changed." After watching his ward run down the hall and around the corner, he continued his descent, sighing. "He'll be the death of us both, I swear," he shook his head as he reached the foyer.

"Or our salvation," the butler muttered as he moved to the closet to retrieve Bruce's winter coat. _The change in __you__ since his arrival has been remarkable, after all. I can only imagine what a little more time with him will do. As for myself…well. I have no doubt my outlook has also brightened considerably since spring._

"What?"

"Just the morning mumblings of an old man, Master Wayne," he waved the question away. "Not worth concerning yourself with, I assure you."

"…What was he thanking you for a minute ago?" the billionaire asked as he slid his arms into his coat sleeves and felt Alfred settle the collar into place.

"Oh, that. There's a very simple explanation, sir. You see, I promised that when I addressed you regarding the nutritionally unviable meal you served him in my absence last weekend I would raise my voice for a shorter period of time than you likely deserve."

"Di-ick," the businessman groaned, covering his eyes with one hand. "That was a _secret_."

"I didn't mean to tell!" a young voice proclaimed from the top of the stairs. Both men looked up to find him peering down at them from between the banister's posts. "It just slipped out when I was talking about how I couldn't ever be a vegetarian!"

"…How did you change clothes that fast?" Bruce asked, noticing that the boy was now clad in jeans and a sweater. "There's no way you took your bath. You were gone a whole two minutes."

"I took one last night and laid my clothes out for today," he explained eagerly. "Every morning when I come downstairs Alfred says you left just a few minutes before, so I thought that if I get ready a little sooner from now on I can wish you a good day before you have to go to work."

The billionaire gaped for a moment. "Well," he recovered, crossing his arms, "are you going to do it, or are you going to stand there and stare at me?"

"Be right there!" He rushed halfway, then tucked into himself and rolled forward. The edges of the risers pressed into his back and legs as he tumbled down, but the pressure wasn't painful. He'd done the trick right, as he'd known he would, and as soon as he felt the pull of gravity return to normal he flipped to his feet, grinning triumphantly. Taking in the horrified looks on Bruce and Alfred's faces during the split second before both rushed to him, however, he felt his stomach drop. _Uh oh. I messed up. Maybe it looked sloppy?_

Part of Bruce registered that the boy had tucked and rolled down the stairs spectacularly well, but the rest of his brain saw nothing but the connection of steps with soft flesh and immediately predicted broken limbs and disaster. Falling to his knees in front of him, he gave him a once over and then yanked him into an embrace. "Don't _ever_ do that again!" he barked, the roughness in his voice not matching the tender desperation in his clutching hands. "You could have killed yourself! What if you'd landed on your neck?"

"I've been practicing," the boy said, his voice shaking uncertainly. "You…you said you wanted me to come up with evasion tactics…" Bruce shoved him away at those words, holding him at arm's length, and Dick felt tears threatening to escape. "I thought that was what you m-meant…"

The billionaire didn't have to look up to know that he was being given a world-class Look by Alfred. "I know I told you to practice evading," he explained slowly, "but I only want you to work on it in the cave, and then only when someone's there to spot you."

"You're both here," he pointed out, lip quivering.

"We didn't know what you were doing. We thought you were _falling_, not trying to show us a new move." His voice softened. "I'm not mad at you, Dicky. You just…you just scared me. And Alfred, too."

"'M sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to."

"It's okay." Pulling him close again, he felt a small face press against his neck and heard a sniffle. _Well, so much for this shirt. _Sighing at the thought of changing before he left – he was already running late - he had an idea. "…Did you say earlier that they cancelled school for today?"

"And t-tomorrow," he felt him nod. "Cause there's a bunch of snow coming."

"Sounds like the roads could be pretty dangerous." As he spoke he ran one hand up and down the boy's spine comfortingly, feeling it stretch and relax.

"Yeah," Dick agreed, sensing where this could go. "Everyone who possibly can should stay home, they said on the radio. It could be _really, really_ dangerous." Upping the ante, he wrapped his arms around Bruce's neck and held tight. A laugh rumbled through the man's throat, and he knew he'd won.

"All right, snow day it is," the billionaire grinned, standing with his son in his arms. "Alfred, call me out of the office on account of the roads, would you?"

"Shall I make the excuse for tomorrow as well, sir?" the butler asked, pleased.

Bruce glanced out the window and saw thick, heavy flakes beginning to fall. More importantly, as he turned back to answer he caught the pleading look in the nine year old's eyes. "You know, I just have this strange feeling that it's not going to stop. Call it a hunch, but I think driving will be treacherous for the next couple of days."

"Very good, Master Wayne," Alfred nodded, disappearing towards the kitchen.

"Yay!" the child practically shrieked, his fist nearly connecting with the jaw of the man holding him as he threw his arms into the air. His face changed suddenly as he realized that not everyone had the luxury of calling out of work whenever they felt like it. "Oh. Wait. Bad weather isn't a good thing for most people." He frowned slightly.

"It is for_ you,_ though," his guardian pointed out. "Because it means that you get skating practice. The pond should be frozen enough, it's been cold for weeks."

"…Can we have…" he wrinkled his nose, trying to think of a Batman-esque term. "…Projectile avoidance training?"

"I could be convinced to chuck snowballs at you, sure."

"Bruuuce, _you_ have to practice dodging them, too!"

"It's cute how you think you can even get close with one," the billionaire teased, carrying him into the dining room and setting him in his chair. Circling the table to take his own seat as Alfred appeared bearing two plates, he smiled at the way he was bouncing on his knees across from him.

"…What?" he asked as he prepared to dig into his breakfast.

"You're funny when you wiggle around like that, that's all."

"I'm _excited_!" he exclaimed. "I get to see you for a whole breakfast, _and_ we're gonna play in the snow! Of _course_ I can't sit still!"

A pang went through his chest as he realized that the mere prospect of eating a meal and spending a few hours together had been enough to make the boy absolutely ecstatic. _I need to call into work more often,_ he berated himself. _And stop scheduling meetings after three, because they always run late and make me miss dinner…_ Shaking himself, he picked up his fork. "What else do you want to do today?"

"…Sledding?" he begged. "And Alfred said I could meet the turkey!"

He blinked. "…The turkey?" Then it hit him. "Oh, right, the Thanksgiving turkey. Are…are you sure you want to meet it?"

"I like animals. Turkeys are neat." He chewed a bite of scrambled egg, swallowed, and then went on when Bruce didn't say anything. "…Why don't you want me to meet it, Bruce?"

"You know Alfred has to kill it to make our dinner next week, right?" he said softly.

"I know. That's how we got to talking about vegetarians. And hot dogs."

He didn't ask for clarification, not wanting to get off topic. "It might be more difficult for you if you get attached to it."

"I won't," he promised. "I know we have to eat him."

Bruce was still hesitant. _It's easier than you would think to fall completely in love with silly little creatures,_ he mused as he stared into the boy's startling eyes. _So very, very easy._ "If you're sure," he said finally.

"I am!"

"No getting attached," he instructed, pointing at him with his fork.

"Agreed."

"Okay, then. That's a promise you just made," he reinforced. "Remember that."

"I will," he nodded eagerly.

"Well, hurry up and eat, then. Your food's getting cold, and we can't go meet the turkey until you've finished eating."

"In a _civil_ manner, Master Dick," Alfred cajoled, coming back in to refill Bruce's coffee just as the boy prepared to take a massive bite.

He blushed, emptying his fork and trying again. "Sorry, Alfred," he murmured. As soon as the butler had exited again, Bruce shot him a wink.

It was going to be a good weekend.


	2. Chapter 2

For some reason that the boy couldn't fathom but didn't care to question, Bruce was in an unusually good mood all day Thursday. They built an elaborate snow fort, then took turns 'defending' it from the snowball barrages of the other. When they were bored of that, they headed for the manor pond, intent on skating. Bruce was competent enough, but far from graceful; Dick, for all that he'd never worn skates before, was a natural. After letting his guardian pull him around for a few minutes to get him used to the feel of balancing on the thin blades, he let go and ventured forth under his own power. He only fell once, and regained his confidence so quickly that ten minutes later he was gliding backwards, giggling.

Seeing that he was quickly being outclassed, the billionaire took a seat on the snowbank, waving for the boy to continue while he watched. Before long he was experimenting with simple jumps, landing less and less shakily as he learned how the ice reacted beneath him. Entranced by his fluid ease – _a few more days out here and he'll be almost as nimble on skates as he is on a trapeze_ – the sun was directly overhead before Bruce realized that his backside was frozen. "C'mon, Dick," he called, standing. "Let's go warm up." _Maybe we'll watch a movie after lunch, _he considered. _A nap would be nice. He said he wanted to go sledding, too. We could go out to the north hill, it's always pretty there at sunset in the winter._ He paused, surprised at his own train of thought; evening sledding on the north hill was something he had done with his parents, and despite several attempts on Alfred's part he had refused to go without them. _I don't even think I've __been__ on a sled since the last winter before they…well, it's been awhile,_ he compromised.

"Let me try just one thing real quick!"

"Di-ick," he groaned. _God, my ass is completely numb._ He was preparing to insist when the child, who had reached the far end of the small pond, began to skate towards him at full speed, lips pursed in concentration. Midway across the pond, he turned to glide backwards towards the waiting man and jumped upwards. His hair brushed the ice as he executed a perfect backflip. "Did you like it?!" he asked excitedly, his high emotion making him wobble as he attempted to brake. "Did it look okay? Oof," he added, sliding heavily into Bruce's waiting arms.

"Okay?" When he'd seen him land, he'd dropped to one knee, judging from his speed that coming to a full stop would be impossible before he hit the snow at the edge of the frozen water. Catching him, he lifted the boy off of the ice and stood. He would never admit it out loud, but he loved the weight of him in his arms. "It was impressive. _I_ can't even do that."

"…Can Batman?"

"Batman's never tried," he laughed, trying to picture his alter ego performing the elegant moves that Dick had been trying out. _The cape would get in the way a lot,_ he considered.

"Oh. That would be funny to see," he hinted, blue peeking up through dark lashes expertly.

"Don't hold your breath," Bruce replied. "Let's go, I'll bet Alfred's got lunch ready."

"Oh, good, I'm _starving,_"

After eating, they migrated into the den to watch _A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving_. Bruce seated himself in his usual chair while Dick sprawled on the couch, but the show had been running for less than five minutes before the boy got up and crawled into his lap, yawning. "Tired?" the man asked, holding him lightly.

"Mm-hmm." It was warm and comfortable in the circle of his guardian's arms, and his eyes needed no coaxing to close.

"Good idea, chum," the billionaire whispered, glancing down during the next commercial break to find him fast asleep. _I don't know how they manage to stretch a thirty minute show into an hour of broadcasting without people revolting,_ he mused as he tilted the recliner back. _It takes away from the aesthetic of it, interrupting mid-century animation with CGI movie trailers._ Knowing there wasn't much he could do about it short of going through the effort to expand Wayne Enterprises into the media – an idea that struck him as incredibly taxing and boring - he joined his son in slumber.

He woke a couple hours later to find Alfred coming in with a plate of caramel apple slices. "Did you sleep well, Master Wayne?" he inquired.

"Yeah. I did." He attempted to stretch under the blanket that the butler had draped over them, then paused as the bundle of warmth curled against his chest made a sound of protest. "Dick? Wake up, kiddo. Snack time." There was no answer, so Bruce kicked the chair back into an upright position, cradling the boy with one arm when he simply snuggled closer with a murmur. Taking one of the sugar-coated fruit wedges, he made a show of enjoying it, moaning and commenting on its deliciousness ostentatiously. As he had known it would be, that was enough to get the child's attention; when he glanced down again, he found him staring upwards, his eyelids still drooping even as a gleam of desire shone beneath them. "You want one?" he asked.

"Mm-hmm," he nodded.

"What was that, Master Dick? I'm afraid I must not have heard you properly," Alfred said, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, please," he tried again, finally sitting up. "I'd like one."

"Well, since you asked so politely," the butler smiled, holding the plate for him. "I'll return shortly with milk for you both," he advised, setting the tray down within reach before he left.

"I like apples," the boy confided, having wolfed his first piece and already reaching for another.

"Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. And caramel." He frowned at his hands. "Caramel's sticky though. I don't like the way it feels."

"Oh, there's a secret to that." Without waiting for the boy to ask what it was, Bruce popped one of his own fingers into his mouth, sucking the residue of their snack off before wiping the digit dry on his pants. _It's just saliva,_ he thought, trying not to think about how expensive the trousers probably were. Under normal circumstances he would never have done such a thing, but it had just felt _right_ at the time. It carried the perfect level of daring for a nine year old in a house managed by Alfred, and he couldn't resist.

"…Alfred would be so mad!" the child whispered, his eyes darting back and forth between the door and Bruce.

"Alfred's not here to see, is he?" he answered. A nervous little laugh reached his ears as his ward imitated his gesture, gaze still riveted to where the butler would have to re-enter the room. Footsteps approached, and he immediately scrubbed his hand across his jeans and reached for another slice.

"…The silence in this room is highly suggestive, sirs," the Englishman announced, setting down two large glasses and putting on his stern face. "Am I missing something, perhaps?"

Guardian and ward exchanged a glance, then turned perfectly innocent faces towards him. "No, Alfred," they said as if on cue.

Bruce had to clear his throat to cover his laugh at their identical timing and the mild start it had given the man they were trying to deceive. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Oh, call it a knack for discerning boyish antics, Master Wayne."

"We were just enjoying these really, really good apples," Dick insisted.

"Are you enjoying them? Good. I just hope you aren't being taught any unsavory habits as part of your snow day education." Raising an eyebrow was normally all it took to get the child to spill; apparently, Alfred discovered as the resolute expression on the pointed little face didn't so much as flinch, that was not the case when he was in league with the elder master. _As irksome as this turn of events is, I can't say I'm sorry to be witnessing it._ "…But then I've been mistaken before," he conceded.

"Really? When?" the boy inquired.

"Once, a _very_ long time ago," Bruce smirked. "I probably wasn't even born yet."

"Wow. That _was_ a long time ago."

"Hey!" He began to tickle him in payback, only stopping when his target slithered to the floor and scooted a short distance away, still laughing.

The corner of Alfred's mouth jerked upwards briefly as he watched. "Will there be anything else for now, sirs?"

"Yes," Bruce replied, remembering his thought from earlier. "We're going sledding this evening. Do we have everything we need for that?"

"Of course, sir. Was there a particular spot you had in mind?"

"The north hill." He paused, meeting the other man's eyes for a fleeting second. "It's the best spot on the property for sledding."

"My very thought, Master Wayne," he said quietly, sending him a tiny nod of approval. _So many advancements in such a short period of time,_ he sighed happily to himself as he left them. _What I wouldn't give to gather up the bevy of psychologists you spoke with as a child, have them watch the two of you at play, and then rub their noses in their own dour predictions. 'Completely unable to form meaningful social bonds,' indeed! If that isn't a meaningful bond, then there is no such thing on this earth._

"…I am not _old_," Bruce informed the boy when he knew Alfred was gone.

"Well, not _really_ old. I mostly just said that as a distraction. He's got this look that makes it really hard not to tell him everything."

"The eyebrow," the billionaire nodded.

"You do it, too."

"…I do?"

"Yup. But it didn't work this time," he grinned conspiratorially.

"No, it sure didn't. I guess that's part of the reason we make such a good team," he winked, earning himself a brilliant smile. "…You want to go meet the turkey?" He was still very hesitant about allowing it, but when Dick gave him that open, trusting look he just couldn't deny him anything.

"Yes!" he leapt to his feet in a blur and headed straight for the door. "C'mon!"

"Whoa, hold up. Drink your milk first."

"Oh. Okay." Coming back, he picked up a glass and stared at it for a second. "…What about you?"

"Huh?"

"Aren't you going to drink yours?"

A terrible, wonderful idea came into his head. He listened carefully to the hall, noticing as he did that the boy seemed to pick up on his heightened awareness and grow more alert as well. Bending down when he was fairly certain they were safe, he whispered a challenge into his ear. "I'll race you. First one done gets the last slice of apple."


	3. Chapter 3

Dick swallowed the final bite of caramel apple as he tagged alongside Bruce across the snow and up to the temporary outbuilding that had been brought to the manor specifically to house the turkey. As they approached, the smell of animal bedding hit their noses. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply and smiling.

"Ugh, that's awful," Bruce commented.

"I think it's nice," the boy at his side rebutted. Glancing down at him, he found him wearing an almost meditative expression. _Huh. Well, they had animals with the circus. That must be it._

"Well, enjoy it now, then. This will all go away the day after Thanksgiving."

"…After Alfred kills the turkey." It was a statement, not a question, and the billionaire wondered for the umpteenth time if bringing him to meet the animal had been a mistake.

"Yes. Is that going to be a problem?"

"…No." _It can't be. I promised it wouldn't be. I can't break a promise, at least…not to you._ _Or to Alfred._ "It's okay." Maybe if he said it enough it would make it okay.

A sharp gobble greeted them as they entered the small structure, repeating as the creature rushed towards them. It thrust its head forward at Bruce with a strange hiss, pecking at him. "Hey!" he snapped, hoping the noise would get the thing to back off. Instead, it merely seemed to aggravate it further, and he pushed Dick behind him, not wanting the sharp beak to have a chance to catch him.

The boy, though, had a different idea of how to deal with the flustered game bird. He slipped out of his guardian's grasp and walked straight up to it, holding out his hand and speaking to it in a low voice.

"Dick, it's not a dog!" Bruce warned him sharply. To his displeasure, the animal managed to get between them, bobbing its head and moving towards the child. He sucked in a breath when it went for his palm, seeming to nibble on it.

"It's okay," the boy assured him. "It doesn't hurt, it just feels kind of weird." Reaching out with his other arm, he touched the closest feathers. "Yup, feels like a bird. Ow," he said mildly as the turkey scraped its head across his hand. "Your beak _is_ kind of sharp, gobblehead. Good thing I have trapeze callouses."

"Gobblehead?"

"Yeah. Cause the way he was coming towards me a second ago kind of made him look like one of those bobble-head dolls, you know? And, well…he gobbles."

_I knew this was a bad idea._ "If you name him, it's going to be really tough for you to eat him next week."

"I'm not _naming_ him Gobblehead. That's just what he is. A gobblehead." As he spoke the bird lowered itself it to the ground, then nudged him in the stomach with its head. "Hey, turkey hugs!"

_'Turkey hugs?' Seriously?_ He shook his head, watching the creature suspiciously.

"Did you know Benjamin Franklin wanted the turkey to be America's national bird?" Dick mentioned as he knelt down to pet the animal more thoroughly.

"I did, but how did _you_ know that?" He knew immediately that he'd stepped onto shaky ground when his hands stilled.

"…Pop Haly used to talk about it every Thanksgiving." He stared at his guardian's feet, remembering. "Wherever we were, we'd set up the big top and put up one big, long table. There'd be another huge table for everybody to put what they brought to eat on, cause we did the meal like a potluck. Anyway, when everybody had their food he'd stand up at the head of the table and give a little speech about how thankful he was to…to have such a big, wonderful family, and that we could all be together. And if we'd had a good season, he'd talk about that, and if we didn't have a good season he'd talk about how next year was sure to be better. And he'd always say something about the turkey, and Ben Franklin wanting it to be the national bird instead of the bald eagle."

Bruce shifted slightly, wanting to rush over and comfort him but sensing that he wasn't done talking.

"…Last year, somebody – I think it was Goro, he was one of the roustabouts – asked him why he always said that same part about Ben Franklin, year after year. We were all eating, and everybody was having their own conversations all around, but I could hear them because Pop Haly was leaning over right next to me. He put on this funny little smile, and he said it was because the battle to pick the bird interested him. Some people liked the eagle because it was beautiful and strong, but Franklin wanted the turkey because he thought it was more noble and courageous. He told Goro that when he looked down the table every year he saw the qualities of both birds in the members of his circus, and that that was what kept us going year after year. He said that was what he was the _most_ thankful for – that he got to spend his life surrounded by people who were beautiful, noble, courageous, and strong." He sniffed as quietly as he could, pretending to examine the feathers of the turkey so that Bruce wouldn't see the wet trails on his cheeks.

A few seconds later the man knelt beside him, a gentle finger turning his chin upwards. "Oh, Dicky," his voice soothed as he spied tears. "I'm sorry."

"I-it's okay," he whispered as he was pulled into his arms. "It's a good memory. It just makes me kind of sad."

"I know," he breathed against his hair, holding him tightly and rocking. _I know, baby. It hurts to remember, but it's so much worse to forget. I know. _The turkey, displeased, turned its head and began to peck at the intruding billionaire. He ignored it, focused on the child clinging to him needily. After the fifth or sixth attack on his coat sleeve, however, he grimaced and stood up.

"…It kind of smells like the big top in here. That's probably not helping," he heard a small voice disclose as he rose.

_Yeah, that wouldn't make it any easier, _he considered sadly. "Why don't we take a little walk, huh? See what we can see? Maybe there will be some deer along one of the paths." _Get some fresh air that doesn't remind you of anything. _As he spoke he pulled the end of his scarf out and wiped his son's face dry. _Cashmere,_ he winced. _Well, at least it won't hurt his skin. He can't go outside wet, he'll freeze._

"Okay." Dropping back down to the ground, Dick, with eyes still swimming, gave him a brave little smile. Then he turned to say goodbye to the bird, which stopped molesting Bruce as soon as the two humans were no longer touching. "Bye, Gobblehead."

Bruce almost said something about naming it again, but bit his tongue. _Leave it be,_ he could practically hear Alfred telling him. _He's worked up enough as it is without being reminded that the creature has to be killed in a few days. _"Ready?" he asked.

"Yeah. Let's go."

They pushed their way through the snow, which was falling faster and thicker than it had been that morning. Venturing into the trees, they quickly came upon a doe and her yearling standing in a small clearing and stopped to watch. Bruce dropped down to one knee so as not to startle her. "Can you see them?" he whispered to the boy, wrapping one arm around his waist.

"Yeah. They're really pretty. I wonder…"

"What?"

"The baby looks kind of thin. What's it going to eat all winter?"

"I don't know, kiddo. I'll bet its mother knows, though. That's probably why she brought it here."

"Why, does Alfred put out deer food or something?"

"No, but there's plenty of trees to hide in, and we're close enough to town that a lot of predators will stay away."

"Oh." He paused. "We _could_ put out deer food," he suggested.

"No, we'd have way too many of them."

"…Oh."

"It's a nice thought, though."

Eventually the doe leapt away, her offspring bounding after her. "_That_ was cool," Dick sighed. "I wish I could jump like that."

"…You _do_ jump like that. All the time. Not on four legs, of course."

He shrugged. "I dunno. There was just something special about it." He looked around, then down at the snow that stopped halfway to his knees. "I guess we could call this cross country endurance training," he observed. "Since we have to walk back home."

It made Bruce's heart swell to hear him refer to the manor as 'home;' until very recently the boy had consistently called it just 'the house' or, worse yet, 'your house.' "Are you tired? We've done a lot today."

"I'm okay," he said stubbornly. "I can walk."

Looking back at him a while later, the billionaire was pleased to see the child diligently stepping in his footprints, using them to lessen the amount of effort that had to be expended in pushing the snow aside. _I don't know that hopping from one to the next is much of an energy saver, though._ It struck him that Dick was probably only doing so because the prints were so much further apart than his own legs could manage, and with that in mind he curtailed his stride. _Just because we're having 'cross country endurance training' doesn't mean I want him completely exhausted at the end of it. After all, we're going sledding later._ As they reached the bottom of the low hill on which the manor was perched, he stopped, bent down, and swung him up onto his shoulders.

"Thanks," came a grateful acknowledgement. "Everything looks so different from up here," he commented, his eyes falling on the turkey shed. A tiny pang went through him. "…I mean, you kind of see things from up high on a trapeze, but you're too busy doing your moves to really look at it. Plus, it's not like you can just _stop_."

At the word, Bruce came to a halt.

"What…Oh," the boy laughed, tearing his attention from the temporary building. "I get it. Cause I said stop."

"Right," he agreed, patting his knee.

Resting his cheek on the top of his guardian's head, Dick stared pensively towards where Gobblehead could be heard faintly making his eponymous sound. _I can't break my promise. I just __can't._


	4. Chapter 4

Their intended sledding trip was postponed on Thursday due to the continuing heavy snow and exhaustion. Dick had nearly fallen asleep in his dinner, and that had been enough impetus for Bruce to push the expedition off to the next day. By late Friday afternoon the skies had partly cleared, the snow tapering off to light flurries that ceased shortly after dark. The moon was bright and full as they loaded up the car. Seeing it as he stepped onto the porch, the boy pulled off his glove, pressed his lips to the backs of his first two fingers, and then raised them towards the orbiting body.

"Um…Dick?" Bruce asked, coming outside behind him and frowning at the strange action.

"Yes?" the child replied, turning to face him as his hand dropped back to his side.

"What…what was that?"

"What was what?"

"…Whatever it was you just did. What was that?"

"Oh." His eyes dropped. "Just…just something my mom always did. She always told me that you should kiss your hand to the moon, especially when it's full. The full moon represents life, she said. New life," he explained quietly. "Kissing your hand to it…it's a sign of respect."

"…Of thanks," Bruce nodded, understanding.

"Yeah. That, too. I…Is it weird? I know sometimes I do weird things…"

"It's not _weird_. Who told you that you do weird things?"

"Some kids at school," he shrugged.

"Do they tease you?" he queried, feeling anger rise at the thought of someone making fun of his sweet, loving child.

"…I dunno, Bruce. I think they just don't understand. But that's okay, because I don't always understand why they do certain things, either. We're just…different. I'm working on it, though."

"Don't. Don't stop being who you are just to be more like them." He put his hands on the boy's shoulders, bending to look him in the eye. "There are millions of kids in this city, but none of them are just like you. And that's worth a lot. Don't let them force you to be something you're not."

"…I don't want to make you ashamed of me. If I do strange things, it might not look so good for you. I know how important it is that people think well of you."

"Dick, I would never be ashamed of you for staying true to yourself, or to your past. It's not weird, it's part of who you are, and that's special. As for my reputation, I do enough damage to that on my own. I don't think you being in the habit of throwing a kiss to the moon is going to be the final straw that brings down the house of cards."

"…Okay," he said with a tiny smile.

"Ready to go?" Getting an eager nod, he grinned. "Race you to the car."

Alfred dropped them at the top of the hill, then left to wait at the bottom. Looking out over the silent acreage that made up this end of the estate, Bruce sighed. _It looks so different as an adult,_ he thought. He tilted his head back. _Even the stars look different now._

"Is all of this _yours_?" Dick asked beside him, voice heavy with awe as he surveyed the landscape spread before them.

The billionaire looked down at him. "Yeah, chum. It's all ours. Everything you can see from here."

Cautious blue eyes met his. "…Ours?" he repeated softly.

"Ours," came back with a nod. "Mine…and yours. Is that okay with you?"

"…Yeah," he answered. "It is." He leaned against the man for just a moment. "…Can we sled now?"

"Of course," he laughed slightly. _You make it so easy sometimes to forget that you're only nine. _"You go first."

"We should go down together," he insisted. "It's better that way."

He hesitated. _Everyone I've ridden down this hill with, I've lost,_ he thought. An excited, pleading little face was straining up at him, though, and he was reminded of all the thing this child had already survived. _It won't be the same with him. Everything's different now. __I'm_ _different now. I can protect him, and he's learning to protect himself._ "…Okay," he agreed. "But you're in front." _Where I used to sit,_ he didn't add. _The safe spot._

"Deal!"

They quickly lost track of how many times they threw themselves down the hill, fresh snow whizzing by underneath of them once they'd gotten a good trail packed down. Dick went down by himself only once before declaring that it was no fun that way and cajoling his guardian into continuing to ride with him. Bruce didn't need much encouragement to hop back on the sled after the first go; sledding was almost like flying, especially on the really good runs when they managed to catch a little air off of the bumps. They had several spectacular crashes towards the end, when they began to get bored with the known path they'd slicked down to ice and tried out a couple of more exotic trails. After he had to grab the boy and tumble off to the side to keep them from going headfirst into a tree, Bruce called it quits for the evening. "C'mon, kiddo. It's way past your bedtime."

"But it's Friday. Aren't we going out on patrol?"

"…Aren't you tired?"

"Well, yeah, but I could still patrol."

He shook his head. "No patrol tonight. Batman may even stay in."

"Whoa. Really?"

"Mm-hmm. Sledding is hard work. Besides, I happen to know for a fact that Alfred made cookies before you got up this morning. You wouldn't want to miss out on those, would you?"

"…We could have cookies _after_ patrol."

He laughed delightedly. "I'm glad you like being Robin so much," he said, "but we're not going out tonight. That's final."

"…Okay," the boy sighed back. _Well, at least there are cookies._

Back in the car, he curled up in the middle seat and laid his head on Bruce's leg, dropping off to sleep as soon as they began to move. _That's what I thought,_ the man observed silently. He glanced out of the window just as the hill, its surface marked with the evidence of their play, slipped out of sight. _I wish they could have been here tonight,_ he mourned. _They would completely adore you, Richard Grayson. The same as I do, _he admitted, stroking his hair and watching him in the moonlight. _Thank you for giving me new life._

Clouds were massing overhead again as they pulled up to the manor. Stirring, Dick yawned with a tiny mewl and sat up. "Hi," he whispered sleepily.

"Hey, kiddo. Ready to go in?"

He almost asked to be carried, knowing Bruce would oblige him, but he bit his tongue. _I don't want to look like a baby. Maybe if I don't act tired he'll change his mind about patrol._ "Sure," he nodded, climbing out of the car.

The billionaire exited as well, a little surprised that the boy hadn't asked for a lift. _Probably hoping I'll change my mind about patrol, _he realized. Bringing the child in as his partner had been risky, he knew, and would continue to be so, but even after just the few patrols they had done together as Batman and Robin he knew it had been a good decision. He learned fast, he had a talent for acrobatics and contortion that already outstripped his mentor, and he was eager as hell. Tonight's little debate about going out was just one moment among many recent ones that demonstrated the depth of his desire to serve, and it made his guardian beam with pride.

As they trooped up the steps, a plaintive bird call stopped Dick in his tracks. "What is it?" Bruce asked.

"…Gobblehead sounds lonely."

"He's a turkey. He doesn't know what lonely is."

"Animals can get lonely!" he insisted. "Once, Pop Haly loaned Macy, one of our elephants, to another circus for a few weeks because their star elephant was sick. Eleanor – she was Macy's mom – was really sad. She didn't eat for three days, and she cried."

"She _cried_?"

"Elephants can cry. Eleanor did, at least. There were other elephants around, but she missed Macy. When we got Macy back, she got all better, and stopped being sad. The person whose circus borrowed her said that Macy was sad, too, and wouldn't stop crying, even when she was doing shows. She'd perform, but she was depressed. Animals can get lonely, too," he repeated, staring up at Bruce with his arms crossed.

"Okay," he conceded. "I believe you. But turkeys aren't elephants."

"…That's true." He chewed his lip for a moment. "But he still sounds lonely."

"Well, don't worry about it tonight."

"Can I go see him real quick?"

"_No._ You can have cookies, and then it's bedtime. You'll see him tomorrow, maybe."

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he merely nodded before going inside, shedding his winter gear, and heading for the kitchen. They ate their late dessert in a silence that Bruce chalked up to three parts exhaustion and one part perturbation on the part of his son. When he was done, Dick wished them both good night quietly and took himself upstairs.

In bed, he thought he could still hear the turkey calling out. Sitting up, he listened for several minutes, but there was no sound from the hallway to indicate that Bruce or Alfred might be monitoring his movements. Slipping out from beneath the covers, he used every tactic he could remember to make his way quietly to the window.

A breeze made him shiver and wrap his arms around himself as he opened the window. _It's snowing again_, he noticed. _Oh, brrr, that's really cold._ Retreating, he grabbed his blanket and wrapped it around himself before returning to his post. As he took up his position again, he heard it, the same plaintive, warbling song that had caught his ear on the steps earlier. "Poor Gobblehead," he sighed. _I don't want to eat you. You're a nice turkey. You even seem kind of smart. I'll bet you miss your friends and your family. _

He whipped around as the door cracked open. "…Dick?" Bruce entered the room, his face creasing for a moment as he saw the empty bed and missing blanket. Looking over, he found him trying to shut the window, and sighed. "What are you doing?" he asked, coming over and helping him push the sash down.

"I…I could hear Gobblehead talking. I was just listening," he swore. "That's all. I just wanted to hear him."

"Dick, you _cannot_ get attached to that turkey. It's _dinner_. It's like getting attached to a sandwich." He sighed when the child stared at the floor, unwilling to meet his eyes. "You promised me," he reminded him.

"I know," he said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He pulled him into a hug. "C'mon. You need to go to sleep. Be glad Alfred didn't find you standing there in a cold breeze with bare feet, he'd keep you in bed all day tomorrow."

"Uck. Saturday in bed."

"Yeah, they're not much fun."

"…What're we gonna do tomorrow, Bruce?" he yawned as the man settled him back onto the mattress and tucked him in.

"I've got some paperwork I need to work on," the billionaire confessed guiltily. _I need to stop bringing paperwork home. Damn, I'm getting quite the list of New Year's resolutions started._

"…Oh. Okay." He couldn't quite cover his disappointment.

Wincing at the sound of it, Bruce crawled into the bed, too. "We'll do something together tomorrow, and Sunday, too," he told him.

"…Promise?"

"I promise, chum. Anything you want to do. Within reason," he added quickly.

"Okay," he sighed, snuggling in close. "G'night, Bruce."

"Goodnight, Dick." He was going to leave once the boy was asleep, he really was, but when he went to pull away a few minutes later he found that a set of long, thin little fingers had entangled themselves in his hand and wouldn't let go despite their owner's unconscious state. _Oh, to hell with it,_ he thought, lying back down. _My bed might be bigger, but that just makes it more noticeable when there's no one in it beside me. This,_ he decided as he encased the nest's other occupant in his arms, _is far preferable._


	5. Chapter 5

"Bruuuuce," Dick trilled, pushing one of the study's double doors open and sticking his head into the room.

The man at the desk put a finger to his lips and indicated the phone in his hand. The boy obeyed, crossing the room silently to sit cross-legged in one of the deep leather armchairs across from his guardian. He waited, listening attentively to the conversation.

"Well, if five percent isn't good enough for your company, Mr. Talbot, I'm afraid there's nothing more to talk about. Seven? No. I won't go to seven. Because it's a criminal sum, Mr. Talbot." He scoffed, standing up and beginning to pace. "_Paltry?_ You call a projection of two hundred and forty seven million dollars a year _paltry_?" Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes as he listened to the man on the other end of the line. "Yes, Mr. Talbot, talk to Geneva and get back to me. I need a definite answer before five o'clock today. Why?" His nostrils flared. "It's none of your business _why_, but I have family plans this evening. So, by five. Yes. Goodbye." He hung the phone up roughly, uttering a word that Dick knew probably shouldn't have been used in his presence.

"Hi," he ventured, not sure how long the man's anger would go on.

"Hey, kiddo," Bruce sighed back, dropping into his chair.

"Tough day at the office?" he asked, keeping his face straight. To his delight, the quip drew a smile.

"Something like that. This subsidiary merger is total garbage. I don't know _why_ Lucius thinks it's such a great idea for us to absorb a failing European consumer electronics corporation, but apparently doing so is part of his master plan to take over the world."

"…Does he really want to take over the world?" Dick queried.

"No, of course not."

"Oh. Good. I like Lucius, I don't really want Batman and Robin to have to fight him."

"…That's Mr. Fox, Dick."

"He told me to call him Lucius," the child shrugged. "I mean, I guess I could call him Mr. Fox around you and Lucius to his face, but that would get really confusing when we're all in the same room together. Not that you ever take me with you to the office," he added sadly.

"You'd just be bored there."

"I could hang out with Lucius. He said he'd take me down to R and D sometime."

"Lucius has work to do. And the last thing R and D needs is the boss' kid underfoot." The words came out more sharply than he'd meant for them to, and he saw the boy's lips turn downwards. "I'm sorry, chum," he breathed, coming around the desk to kneel in front of him. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Missing two days of work because of the weather just put me kind of behind, especially with the short week coming up. See, this is why I don't take you with me to work; I'm grouchy and annoyed a lot of the time that I'm there, and I don't want to take that out on you." He took his hands. "Okay?"

"…Okay." He paused. "When are we going to do something? You said we would today."

"I know. After five, as soon as I hear back. I'm waiting on several phone calls, but I told them all to call before five. Why don't you go play outside? It snowed a bunch more out there."

"…Can I just sit here and listen? I won't say anything, I really won't."

"Dick, no. I'm sorry, but…" _You're a distraction,_ he couldn't quite manage to tell him. _I see you sitting there, waiting for me so patiently, and I just want to tell everyone from Beijing to Beirut to go to hell because I'm hanging up to go play with my son._ "…you'll just be bored out of your mind," he made an excuse.

"I think it's interesting," he insisted. "I want to know more about Lucius' master strategy to take over the business world for you."

"…You make me sound like an evil genius," he frowned.

"Well, not _evil._" The phone rang, and the nascent smile that had started to creep across the boy's face vanished.

"Five o'clock," Bruce said firmly, squeezing his fingers before getting up. "Now go play. Hello, Mr. Talbot? Ah, Madame Saint-Genevieve, _comment allez-vous? Bien, merci…Non…Non, Madame, c'est impossible…_"

Dick wanted to sit and listen, to count the languages Bruce used and see how much of each he could understand. It would have been good practice, in his opinion, for all of the various tongues the man was already talking about having him study. He'd come to the manor fluent in English and Romany, and with a good grasp of Spanish from the old Gitano couple who had fled Franco decades before and come to work for Pop Haly. His control of French was mediocre at best, but his mother had spoken it beautifully, and the sound of the language always reminded him of the Old World lullabies she would sing when he was sick. He ached to listen and absorb, if not to actually improve his skill with Gallic speech then to at least memorize the way the words sounded in Bruce's voice. He wondered, if he tried hard enough, if he could imagine his mother and his guardian singing those foreign songs in harmony.

"_Dick,_" he heard hissed. His eyes snapped to his guardian, who was gesturing him towards the door. Hunching his shoulders, he did as he was told, slouching towards his bedroom.

Halfway there, he realized that he knew the perfect way to pass the day until Bruce was done. "Gobblehead!" he exclaimed to the empty hall. "I'll go see him." About-facing, he ran downstairs and into the foyer, throwing open the closet and beginning to pull on his winter gear. Alfred interrupted him just as he was zipping his coat.

"Going outside to enjoy the fresh air, Master Dick?" he asked.

"…Yes, Alfred," he nodded. _Don't mention Gobblehead, _he cautioned himself.

"Very well, young sir. Please come in before you get too chilled; you don't want to catch cold. And stay within sight of the house, if you would be so kind." _I really ought to go out with him, if only for a little while. There are so many things to do, though, for next week…_

"Okay," he smiled. "Alfred," he called the butler back. "Would you call for me if Bruce gets done early?"

"Of course, Master Dick. I'll be certain to do so." _I hope Master Wayne realizes that he'll not be working from home next weekend. It is a holiday, after all, and he now has a more important calling than corporate mergers._

"Thanks!" he beamed as the Englishman returned to the kitchen. _It's only one, _he realized, looking at the clock. _I should take something to read. Then I can hang out with Gobblehead and not get bored._ Diving back into the closet, he dug a book out of his schoolbag and tucked it under his arm. _There. All set._

"Hey, Gobblehead!" he called out, slipping into the shed. The turkey came to him willingly, doing the same head-butt to his stomach that it had before. "Turkey hugs," he said approvingly, moving to sit in the patch of sun that came in through the single fiberglass window. "Do you want to hear a story?" he asked as the bird followed him and settled down at his side. "Bruce recommended it to me. It's really good. I've already started it, though, so you'll just have to catch up. It's called _A Tale of Two Cities_." Opening the volume, he rested it on his knees and began to read aloud, turning the pages with one hand while the other stroked the creature's feathers.

The boy was a fast, eloquent reader, and as the light waned so did the number of pages yet unvoiced. Charles Darnay was just being whisked out of Paris when the shed door creaked open. "…Master Dick?" a voice cut him off questioningly.

"Huh?" He looked up, and so did the turkey. "Oh. Hey, Alfred. What's up?"

"Master Dick, have you been in here this entire time?" the butler inquired as he entered.

"Just for a little while," he insisted, unaware that five hours had passed.

"Good lord, child, how can you see to read in here? You'll ruin your eyes. How can you go out at night if you damage your sight by reading in the dark?"

"I…I didn't realize it had gotten so dim," he admitted, closing the book and standing up. "Is it five yet?" he asked eagerly. "Is Bruce done?"

"It's nearly six, actually, and I'm afraid Master Wayne is still on the phone with someone abroad," Alfred disclosed. "However, your dinner is waiting for you."

"…Oh. Is…do you think he'll be done soon?"

"I've no idea, young sir. He seemed quite involved." When the boy just nodded, the butler felt a twinge of sadness for him. _No wonder he came out here to read to an animal. The poor boy no doubt felt completely unwanted today, with both Master Wayne and I otherwise occupied._ "Come inside, now, and eat. Perhaps after you've finished you would like to continue reading aloud in the kitchen whilst I clean up? It has been some time since I enjoyed the works of Mr. Dickens."

"…You really want me to read just the _end_ of the story to you? I mean, even Gobblehead at least got to hear it from the start of the second part."

"I assure you, Master Dick, I'm quite well enough familiar with the story to follow along. I simply admire the author's prose. I happened to overhear just a little as I approached, and if I may say so, you have a wonderful reading voice. I would be delighted if you would favor me with it for a little while."

"…Okay. Thanks," he grinned, blushing a little. "…Do you think I could have a cookie while I read?"

"Provided you clean your plate and don't attempt to read _while_ eating your dessert, I don't see why that couldn't be arranged," he agreed, guiding the boy out of the ever-darkening shelter with one hand on his shoulder.

"Cool!" Just before he stepped out into the snow, he turned around and poked his head back inside. "Bye, Gobblehead! See you tomorrow!"

Unseen in the deep twilight, Alfred arched an eyebrow. _Reading to a turkey. No, I don't suppose he's become attached in the least._ He sighed internally. _I'll have to speak with Master Wayne tonight, after he's gone to bed. There's no point in drawing things out; we'll just have to ensure that the deed is done before he wakes in the morning. The tears that will follow will no doubt be atrocious, but it can't be helped. It's a tradition, after all. And besides, it's only a bird. There are millions more just like it._


	6. Chapter 6

Bruce finally closed the door to his study at nine thirty. He knew he'd be locked up in there again in the morning, but for now he needed a break. _I hope Dick's still awake,_ he fretted as he headed downstairs. _I never meant to be this long, I just got wrapped up in the details and…_ He sighed. _I always do this. __Why__ do I always do this?_

"Alfred, is Dick down here?" he asked, coming into the kitchen.

The butler looked up from where he was sharpening a wicked-looking knife. "No, sir. I saw him to bed nearly half an hour ago."

"…He didn't say anything about patrol tonight?" The billionaire was surprised; since becoming Robin, it wasn't often that the boy could be convinced to go to bed on the weekend without patrolling, let alone two nights running.

"No, Master Wayne. He didn't." He paused. "I believe he may have been a little put off by your intense focus on the business world today, particularly after you spent the past two days together."

"I figured our having spent the last two days together would be enough for him to want a little time away from me."

"…Was it enough that you wanted time away from _him_, sir?"

"No," Bruce shook his head, frowning. "Of course not."

"Well, I imagine he feels the same."

"…I wanted to drop everything and spend time with him, but I _need_ to get this deal hammered out before next week. It's already dragged out too long." He sighed. "…He's really upset with me, isn't he?"

"As I said, Master Wayne, I think he's just a little bit hurt rather than outright upset. I must admit that I was not nearly as attentive as I could have been today, either. He spent the entire afternoon outside by himself, I'm afraid."

"Does he ever talk about kids from school with you, Alfred, mention any friends?" Bruce inquired, remembering his conversation with his son the night before.

"…No, sir," the Englishman answered contemplatively as he drew steel back and forth across a pitted whetstone that looked as if it had been in use in the house longer than either of them had been breathing. "Not particularly. He will occasionally mention something interesting one of his classmates said or did, but the same name rarely reoccurs, and I've never heard him refer to any of the other children specifically as a friend. On the other hand, he's never told me about any bullying, either. Much of his talk about school is directed at the lessons, and his thoughts about them." The knife stopped flashing, and was abandoned on the counter in favor of a cleaver. "It may be in his best interest for us to speak with the headmaster again after the Christmas holidays. His current coursework still seems to be too easy for him; he flies through his homework in no time at all, and has said several times in the past few weeks that he becomes bored in class because he already knows what's being taught."

"I'll try, but they were hesitant to put him in fifth grade as it was," Bruce answered. "I doubt they'll want to skip him up to sixth, especially mid-year."

"If that is their position, sir, we may wish to consider moving him to another school next term. Home schooling may be the best option, to be honest; he learns far too quickly for a regular curriculum to keep him interested, much as you did at his age. So long as he continually outperforms his classmates, I fear it will be difficult for him to make and keep friends, even with older children. That isn't a good situation for any child, let alone as empathetic and sensitive a boy as Master Dick."

"Hmm…I get what you're saying, but I don't like the idea of removing him from the only place that he really gets to interact with other children." A thought occurred to him. "You know…Flash has a nephew who's just a couple of years older than Dick. He's starting out at night work, too. Maybe we should get the two of them together, see if they hit it off. A non-civilian might be less likely to push him away for being different."

"That sounds like a wonderful plan, sir. I'm sure Master Dick would be very pleased to meet another young person with the same…shall we say hobby?...as he has."

"I'll call Flash tomorrow morning, before the phone starts lighting up again." He turned away. "I'm going to go look in on him before I head out on patrol."

"Very good, Master Wayne," he acceded, sighting down the cleaver's blade and finding it satisfactory. _I'll follow him momentarily. We need to discuss the turkey situation, but I'd prefer to do so with the knowledge that the young master is asleep._

Bruce opened the door to Dick's room slowly, not wanting to wake him if he was already asleep. Sure enough, the boy's eyes were shut, his breathing slow and deep. _No nightmares,_ the billionaire sighed. _Good._ Perching on the very edge of the mattress, he pulled the blanket up higher around his shoulders and cupped his cheek. "I didn't mean to break my promise today, Dicky," he whispered. "I'll make it up to you tomorrow if I can. If I can't…well, by next weekend this merger will be wrapped up. We'll do something extra special then. Please don't be mad at me in the morning, okay?" _Maybe we can drive out to one of those tree farms and get an extra big one for the living room this year. Usually Alfred would take care of that, but you'd probably love running around in the woods and picking it out yourself._ _I wonder if it's too late to get tickets for 'The Nutcracker?'_ Going to that particular ballet was another tradition that had stopped many years earlier, but as with sledding on the north hill, it seemed like it might be time to start it again. "Sleep tight, son," he breathed, kissing his forehead before rising from the bed and retreating into the hallway.

Alfred was waiting in the hall. "What's up?" Bruce asked.

"Has he gone to sleep, sir?"

"Yeah, he's out. He didn't even twitch."

The butler nodded. "Sir, I'd like your permission to break slightly with tradition in regards to the turkey."

"…Don't tell me _you're_ attached to it," the billionaire chuckled jokingly.

"No, sir, but the young master seems to be becoming so very quickly. I found him reading to it earlier this evening."

Bruce's smile faded. "You're kidding me. What was he reading?"

"_A Tale of Two Cities._"

"…He was reading Dickens to a bird?"

"Yes. Quite well, actually. I had him come inside and read the last of the story to me in the kitchen, but I believe he was sharing the journey with the turkey for several hours before that."

"…We have got to get him some friends," he murmured. "So what do you think?"

"I think I should dispatch the creature first thing in the morning, before Master Dick wakes. It's a day earlier than usual, but it seems for the best. Another afternoon of bonding and he may start asking to sleep outside with it."

"He's going to be devastated if he's attached and he doesn't get to say goodbye," he pointed out.

"I imagine that will be less traumatizing than you having to physically remove his arms from around its neck while he's sobbing for us not to hurt it, sir."

"…You have a point there." He sighed, glancing back at the door to the boy's bedroom. _That is not a scene I want any part of. I __knew__ it was a bad idea to let him meet the thing._ "Okay. First thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Master Wayne. Do you require anything before you go out on patrol?"

"No, thanks. I shouldn't be gone too long; it's snowing pretty heavily again, so with any luck things will be slow." _I'd hoped to have Robin with me tonight, but…I can't really blame him for being mad at me. Hell, __I'm__ mad at me._ "Don't worry about waiting up."

"Oh, rest assured, sir, I won't worry about doing so."

"You just _will_."

"Precisely."

The billionaire could only shake his head as they parted.

On the other side of the door, Dick lay absolutely still in bed, his eyes wide. He'd been asleep when Bruce came in, but the kiss the man had laid on his head had woken him. Not having heard the words that his guardian had spoken before preparing to leave, he'd still been upset, and as a result had chosen not to alert him to the fact that he was awake. He'd been fully prepared to go back to sleep, still nursing his hurt, when he'd picked up on Alfred's voice in the corridor.

_They're going to kill Gobblehead in the morning,_ he realized, nearly gasping aloud. _No! They can't, he's my friend. I don't want him to get eaten._ Desire to save the turkey warred with his promise to Bruce, making his eyes prick with tears. _I swore I wouldn't get upset,_ he reminded himself. _But he's not a normal turkey! He's…he's nice. He listened to me read earlier. We can't just chop his head off and cook him! It's not fair. But…but I promised Bruce…_ His lips turned down into a pout. _But Bruce made a promise to __me__, too,_ he remembered. _He promised we'd do something today. Then he made __another__ promise, and said that he'd be done by five. And he broke both of those promises._ That was enough; he still felt guilty that he had gone back on his word about becoming attached to Gobblehead, and the fact that he was going to do something about it only made him feel worse, but knowing that Bruce hadn't kept his promises either made the emotion bearable.

_I'll save you, Gobblehead, _he swore, his face becoming serious as he began to devise a plan. _After all, one bird can't just stand by and watch another die._

**Author's Note: I'm trying like crazy to get this all wrapped up before the end of the day tomorrow! Expect at least one more chapter today. Sorry about the split posting, I'm doing it around my work schedule. Thanks for reading!**_  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_Okay, this should be a piece of cake,_ he told himself, balancing at the top of the stairs forty minutes later. _Bruce is out on patrol. Even if he comes in early, he won't be back for probably another hour at least. Alfred will be either in the kitchen or down in the cave. __He's__ the one I have to avoid._ Keeping close against the wall, he crept down the steps, avoiding the spots he knew were likely to creak. Reaching the bottom successfully, he stopped and listened, hoping to determine the butler's location.

There was no sound from the kitchen, but he shoved down his elation. _He could still be in there, and just…I dunno…be reading a cookbook or something. Or he could know I'm here and just be waiting for me to make a move._ He bit his lip. If he went straight for the foyer, he might be okay; if he went straight to the kitchen, though, he could verify whether or not Alfred was there and come up with some excuse if he was. _At least then I might still have a chance of getting out later on without him knowing what I'm planning._ Pasting on the best 'I woke up thirsty' look he could, he dragged his feet into Alfred's sanctum.

The room was empty.

He hesitated a minute, just to be sure, then grinned. _Coast is clear._ _He must have already gone down to the cave to clean until Batman gets back._ Slipping back into silent mode, he made his way into the foyer and pulled his snow gear and backpack out of the closet. Bundling it all under his arm, he minced back up the stairs and to his room, sighing with relief when he got there safely. It would have been easier to go out the front door than to bring everything back up here, but all of the exits on the first floor were alarmed, and he didn't know the code. _Step one, complete. Step two…_

Step two was much easier. After arranging his clothes under the covers to look like he was sprawled out in his usual position and had merely pulled the blanket over his head, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. _Wow, that actually looks pretty real,_ he thought, surprised at his own skill. Placing the note he'd written before leaving to get his outdoor clothes on the pillow beside the dummy, he proceeded to change into the warmest day clothes he could find, including a pair of Bruce's wool socks that had somehow ended up in his laundry. Before he pulled on his winter outerwear, he repacked his backpack, shoving a blanket in on top of his schoolbooks. When he was dressed in everything short of his gloves, he moved to the window.

_It's really coming down out there,_ he thought, peering out into the heavy snow that was falling. _That's okay, though. It will cover our tracks. _He knew that as soon as either Bruce or Alfred realized that he and Gobblehead were gone there would be a search of the grounds, and Bruce was likely to pick up on even the smallest sign left behind. Keeping that in mind, he wriggled out onto the first-floor roof and shut the window behind himself, then rose into a crouch, trying to keep his profile low. Making his way to the end of the roof, he dropped his backpack into the snow some ten feet below before lowering himself over the edge. He hung straight-armed from the gutter for a moment, then let himself tumble into the drifts.

_Step two, complete. _It was going much better than he had thought it would. If he wanted to be completely honest with himself, he hadn't really expected to get to the foyer without being caught, let alone to actually make it outside. Still, he was meticulous by nature, and his Robin training had only amplified that side of his character; as such, he had devised the entire plan from start to finish before setting out, regardless of the fact that he hadn't held out much hope for its success. _On to step three._

"Hey, Gobblehead," he whispered, opening the shed door exactly wide enough to let him and the sled he'd retrieved from under the back porch inside. A single heat light allowed him to see the bird look up, then rise to its feet and come towards him. "Shh!" he hissed urgently as an enthusiastic gobble broke the silence of the night. "Don't give us away! We have to get you out of here, or Alfred's going to chop your head off tomorrow." Glancing around, he found the heavy wood and chicken wire crate the creature had been delivered in in one corner. He dragged the sled over and tried to pull the box onto it, but it was impossibly heavy. "Oh, crud," he moaned when he realized that he couldn't even get the thing to budge. "How am I going to move you if I can't bring your crate?"

A low call drew his attention to the turkey. He was about to shush it again when he noticed that the animal was standing on the sled, looking at him. Stretching its neck out, it took his sleeve in its beak and tugged gently, then lowered itself until it rested on the plastic toboggan.

"You…are you really just going to sit there and let me pull you?" Dick asked, flabbergasted. "Wow, Gobblehead. You're even smarter than I thought. That's awesome!" Running to the head of the sled, he picked up the rope and went a few steps experimentally, looking back to see how the turkey would react to being pulled. It sat still, watching him expectantly. "Oh, this is so cool," he whispered excitedly. "Okay, let's go!"

Securing the shed door behind them, he almost ran to the trees, wanting to get out of sight of the house as quickly as he could in case Alfred happened to come back upstairs and glance out of the window. _Not that he could see very far tonight, but still._ Their trail, he was pleased to see, was relatively light; the sled helped smooth over his footprints, and so long as the snow kept up any sign of their passage would be obliterated. He gave one final look at the manor before facing the trees and heading north. _I'm sorry I broke my promise, Bruce, but I have to save Gobblehead. I can't let you eat him. I just can't. _

The snow was much deeper than it had been two days earlier when he'd walked with Bruce. The going was easier in the areas where the trees clustered together, but he still tired easily without someone else's footprints to step in, and had to take frequent breaks to calm the ache in his legs and back. Fortunately the moon was bright enough to lend the world a little light despite being behind a heavy cover of clouds; every time it peeked out and let him assess where they were, he thanked it gratefully.

Gobblehead, Dick was surprised to learn, was an easygoing traveling companion. The bird merely sat, quiet except for the occasional little cooing sound, and let itself be pulled along. _I didn't think it would be this easy,_ he wondered. _Bruce is going to be so mad. Alfred, too. _He swallowed heavily. _I'm not looking forward to facing them when we come back. But I __had__ to do it. Gobblehead's not just any old turkey. I mean, a regular turkey wouldn't let me pull it on a sled, and it wouldn't listen to me read Dickens, either!_ Fresh determination flooding him, he pulled harder, trying not to think about what time it was and whether or not his flight had been discovered yet.

The dark hours blended into one another as he trudged through the forest. _Jeez, Bruce really does have a lot of land,_ he thought vaguely. _I don't even know where I am. _Sometime shortly before dawn, he fell to his knees, his strength drained. "…What?" he asked, looking around dimly. "…Oh." _I must have tripped,_ he explained away as he pushed himself back up. _It's fine. Just a little bit further, and we'll stop. The snow is slowing down, anyway, and I don't want to leave tracks that won't have time to get covered up._ He began scanning the forest around him, looking for a good hiding place. He lost his footing without warning two more times before a low bluff rose to his left and presented him with a convenient and familiar option in the form of a small cave.

He crawled into the hole with a sigh of relief, pulling the turkey on its brightly colored sled in after him before flopping on the sandy floor, completely spent. "Okay, Gobblehead, I'm going to take a nap," he yawned. "You stay here."

His last thought before sleep was for his guardian. _Don't worry too much, Bruce. I'll come back as soon as I know Gobblehead is safe._


	8. Chapter 8

Alfred woke at four o'clock, a full half hour before his usual time, and immediately went about his preparations to end the life of the fowl occupying real estate on the back lawn. Clad in a butcher's apron, he carried his tools outside and headed for the turkey shed, his mouth tight. _Telling Master Dick about this will be difficult,_ he steeled himself. _He'll act quite brave about it at first, I'm sure, but once he breaks into tears, it's going to be very unpleasant. Seeing that child cry is tortuous, and I do regret being the cause of his future distress, but a tradition is a tradition. _He stood straighter, bearing up as he entered the small structure with cleaver in hand._ He'll get over it quickly enough,_ he told himself with false cheer, not believing a word of it. _Now, where…_

His confusion at the lack of game bird morphed into suspicion after only a few seconds. _Oh, dear. I wonder if he let it out last night, perhaps while I was in the cave? Master Wayne will not be pleased._ Walking back to the house, he scanned the lawn for proof that someone had left the manor in the night to release the creature, but saw nothing. _With all of the snow we've had in the past twenty four hours, it's not really surprising that there are no footprints left._ Entering the front hall, he removed his apron and left it and the cleaver on a bench before heading upstairs.

"…Master Dick," he knocked at the boy's door, his voice sterner than it usually was for the morning waking ritual. He went in without waiting more than a breath for a response. "Master Dick," he repeated, moving to the foot of the bed and standing with his arms crossed. "Wake up, please, young sir. We need to have a discussion about your whereabouts last night."

No response. Not even a slight murmur or a shift in the position of the form under the covers indicated that he'd been heard. Alfred's mouth turned downwards in a frown. _He knows ignoring me won't do him any good. He seems so __unnaturally__ still this morning, though…_ "Master Dick? Are you unwell?" he queried, his voice a little gentler as he pulled the blanket back. _Oh, no,_ he denied, his eyes widening as they witnessed the expertly molded tangle of clothes. Spying the note on the pillow, he snatched it up and walked swiftly down the hall to announce himself at another room. "Master Wayne," he called, the paper pinched tightly in his hand.

"…Go away, Alfred. It's too early."

"Sir, I'm coming into the room," he said in a tone that brooked no opposition. He counted to three, then turned the knob and entered.

"The house had better be on fire," Bruce muttered, his words distorted by the pillow over his face.

"Nearly as urgent, sir. The turkey is gone."

"Good," he spat, thinking the butler meant that he'd finished killing it. He rolled over. "I'm happy to hear that. Now let me go back to sleep, would you?"

"Master Dick has gone with it."

The billionaire sat up so quickly that the pillow flew halfway across the room. "_What?! _What do you mean he went with it?"

"I went to kill the bird first thing, sir, and found it missing. My original thought was that the young master had set it loose last night, so I came upstairs to speak with him. He fooled me quite thoroughly with a very well made clothes dummy beneath the covers. As soon as I discovered his absence, I came here." He extended the hand holding the note. "This was left."

"…What's it say?"

"It is addressed with your name, sir. I didn't open it."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Dick," Bruce groaned, taking the paper and waiting as the butler flipped on a bedside lamp. Once he could see to read, his eyes flew over a familiar scrawl:

_Bruce,_

_ I'm sorry. I broke my promise. I can't let Alfred kill Gobblehead. He's my friend. I know you'll be really mad at me, but I have to save him. I'm sorry. Please forgive me someday. _

_ Love,_

_ Dick_

_P.S. We'll be back after Thanksgiving, when you won't want to kill him anymore._

"…Oh, Jesus _Christ_, Dicky," he echoed himself, whispering this time. "What were you _thinking_?"

"…Sir?"

"He's taken the turkey and run off, just like you said," Bruce shook his head. "He says they'll be back after Thanksgiving." Laughing hollowly, he shoved the note at Alfred and buried his face in his hands. "He's probably the only kid in the world who would run away with a set return date."

"He can't have gone far," the butler opined. "Although I suspect that he left the house several hours ago, at least. When I was outside I saw no evidence of any trail indicating which way they went."

"And he could have gone in any direction. I'm guessing he'll stay on the manor grounds; god knows there's enough space here for him to hide in. I wonder how he's moving the turkey, though? He makes it sound like they're together." Getting up, he began to pull on clothes, pausing when a horrible thought occurred to him. "…Alfred, did he take any of his outdoor gear with him?" _The temperature was in the teens last night_, he remembered. _If he didn't dress for it, it might already be too late._

The butler's eyes darkened as he realized what the other man was hinting at. "I'll go and check, sir," he breathed, then turned sharply on his heel and vanished into the hall.

_If I had just paid more attention to you yesterday, put down the damn phone and done something with you like I promised we would, none of this would be happening, _Bruce lamented as he pulled on socks. _This is all my fault. I mean, you shouldn't have run off with the turkey, but you wouldn't have become as attached to it if you'd had a human being to talk to yesterday instead of just the bird. Of course you latched onto it; everyone else was too busy to so much as return a hug. I'm so sorry. If I had just let you stay and listen, like you asked, or forced the conversations to end at five like I said I would…_ His musing trailed off as the Englishman reappeared in the doorway.

"All of his snow clothes are missing, and his backpack."

"Thank god," the billionaire whispered, relieved.

"Is there anyone you'd like me to call, Master Wayne? The more eyes the better."

_He's right, but…_ "Not yet," he decided. "I'd like for you and I to do a search of the areas close by first. I want to avoid bringing Social Services in on this unless we have to, and the more people we involve the more difficult it will be to keep them out of it."

Alfred understood his concern, but wasn't certain it was the wisest course of action. _Social Services' level of involvement will be a moot point if we don't find him in time,_ he thought. Perhaps, though, it would be unnecessary, as he'd said. _If we haven't found him by this afternoon, I'll bring the question up again._

They left the house soon after, Alfred heading straight for the trees with a commercial grade flashlight in hand while Bruce examined the area around the turkey shed. As the butler had already explained, there was no sign of which way they'd gone when they departed; the snow that had fallen all through the night masked their trail entirely. Quickly deciding that there was nothing that would help him there, he raised a radio to his lips. "Work your way towards the pond. I'm going to check a couple of other areas that he and I went to on Thursday."

"I will do so, sir."

They broke desperate trails through the heavy groundcover, each tracking the odds of finding him safe as place after place turned up nothing. The pond was undisturbed, as was the forest around it, Alfred found; the billionaire's search of the area in which they'd built their fort and the path they'd seen the deer along uncovered the same results. They met up again at the turkey shed, each circling back to the manor rather than backtracking in order to widen their search.

"I thought he would have gone to someplace familiar," Bruce shook his head, eyes dark with worry. "But he's smart, he might have anticipated my thinking that."

"Perhaps. There is also one more area that the two of you visited recently that we have not considered."

"There's no way he got all the way to the north hill, Alfred," he frowned.

"I'm not suggesting that he did, Master Wayne. But he may have headed in that direction."

"…Okay. Let's try that."

"It might be prudent to call in additional help, sir," the butler hinted very strongly.

"At noon," Bruce said firmly. "If we haven't found him by noon, we'll call in a few other people." _We have to find him by then. We just have to. He must be so cold, even in his winter gear, not to mention hungry. He hasn't eaten since dinner yesterday, and if I know him he walked all night, regardless of how tired he might have gotten. I still don't know how he's moving the bird._

As they moved north, eyes sweeping the snow and the trees for any sign as they called his name, both men found themselves slowly losing hope. _If Master Wayne loses him, it will absolutely crush him, _Alfred thought._ It's taken him so long to allow anyone in, and now that he's finally done so the changes are magnificent. Things simply cannot go back to the way they were before the young master came along. We __have__ to find him, and find him alive. With no trail to follow, however, there's too much ground for two men to cover, even if there weren't nearly two feet of snow in the open spaces. This does not bode well in the least._

Bruce's pensiveness was of a more self-caustic nature. _This is my fault,_ he berated as minutes ticked by. _If we don't find him soon…oh, god, what if I lose him? I can't. I can't lose him. I deserve to, but I can't. Losing him would kill me. _ Pausing, he stared wildly around at the snowy trees. _Where are you, Dick? It's my fault, I know, but just tell me, please, please help me figure this out. I can't lose you._ _I swear, I'll take an entire __month__ off and not even look at a phone if you'll just come to me right now…_

The sun rose, allowing them to pocket their flashlights. The snow had been tapering off for some time, and it began to slip from the trees as the world warmed around them. Before long both searchers had unzipped their coats and removed their gloves, overheated both from the unseasonably strong sun and the heat of their exertion. Their voices grew more despondent with every shout as noon approached. "Master Wayne," Alfred called suddenly.

"Have you found something?" he replied eagerly, a spike of adrenaline rushing through him as he sprinted to where the butler stood some fifty yards away.

"No, sir. But it is nearly noon."

"…How far have we come?"

"At our current pace, I would wager roughly a mile. I believe it's best if we return to the manor and request assistance."

"…You go back, Alfred. I'm going to keep looking." His gaze searched the surrounding area as he spoke, wishing for some clue, _any_ clue.

"You need to rest, sir. You've had very little sleep and no food."

"I don't care. I'm not stopping until I find him."

Alfred sighed. "Yes, I expected you would say something along those lines. Very well, but when I return with assistance I really must insist that you take a break."

"I'll take a break once I know he's safe, and not before."

_Stubborn,_ the Englishman cursed to himself. "Please let me know if you find anything," he requested as he turned to follow his trail out.

"I will." He watched the other man depart on the trek back to the manor, then faced north again miserably. _Where are you, chum? I need you. Come back to me._


	9. Chapter 9

Dick awoke a few hours after he'd passed out in exhaustion and shifted to find Gobblehead plucking at his jacket. "…What…why'd you wake me up, you dork? I'm _tired_, I pulled you all night!" He closed his eyes again, but the turkey refused to stop. "Hey! C'mon!" A loud call erupted beside his ear. "Ooow! That was loud. Quit it, you're going to get us caught!" Glancing outside, he noticed the bright sunlight that had given the snow a shiny look. "Huh. I slept for a while, I guess," he said, sitting up.

He was a little chilled, but the layers he had dressed in had kept him fairly warm despite the cold night. Glancing down at the front of his jacket and finding himself bearing several puffs of down, he realized that at some point while he was sleeping the bird must have laid against him and shared his heat. As a result, his hands and feet were the only parts of him that were numb. Pulling off his gloves, he blew hot air into his hands until he could wiggle all of his fingers, then proceeded to take off his boots and rub his toes until they, too, could be easily flexed.

Gobblehead had apparently just wanted company, settling back down as soon as it was clear that Dick was awake. "You want to hear about photosynthesis?" the boy asked his companion, reaching for his backpack. "We just started a new unit on energy cycling, and I'm supposed to read about it for science class. I hope it's more complex than what Bruce already told me about it, because otherwise this is going to be another boring three weeks." The turkey made a low cooing sound, which he chose to interpret as a resounding accord of his idea. "Okay. But tell me if you get bored," he said, pulling a heavy textbook from the bag and leaning it up against the bird so he could read. "Hope you don't mind being my bookstand, this is a lot heavier than _A Tale of Two Cities._"

He hadn't read very long before his stomach pinged. "Oh. Speaking of energy conversions…" He rifled through his tote again, a look of heavy concentration on his face as he searched for sustenance. "Ah-ha! I knew I still had this in here somewhere!" he exclaimed, presenting a granola bar with a flourish. Tearing it open, he ate half, and then paused. "Uh-oh. This is the only food I brought, Gobblehead," he said slowly. "And today's only Sunday. We can't go back until _Thursday_, maybe even Friday to be safe. Hmm…"

_What would Batman do?_ he wondered. _Well, first of all, he would have brought enough food,_ he got the obvious out of the way. _But if he didn't have enough for some reason, what would he do? I guess if he was in this situation he would scavenge for berries and stuff. Or…bugs. _He wrinkled his nose at the thought. _I think I'd rather go hungry than eat bugs. Plus, it's winter; there __aren't__ any bugs, and probably not any berries, either, at least not that are any good to eat still. _"…I guess I should ration this," he decided, looking at the remaining granola bar sadly. _I'm still really hungry, but at least I'll have something to eat tomorrow, too. _He folded the packaging back up carefully and stashed it in a side pocket where it wouldn't spill.

"We should have some water, too," he told the bird. "I read that you shouldn't eat snow when you're thirsty, because it makes you colder. We can't start a fire to melt it, because the smoke would give us away. I didn't bring anything to start a fire with, anyway." Shoving his arm to the layer of schoolboy detritus at the bottom of his pack, his fingers felt about for a moment before coming up with an empty sandwich bag. "Oh, yeah. Field trip day. We had to pack our own lunch," he explained to the turkey. "Normally the school feeds us, but we were gone that day at lunchtime, so Alfred made me peanut butter and jelly. I could fill this up with snow and put it in my coat; that would make it melt and get warm, then I can drink it and not get hypothermia!" He grinned. "Wilderness survival training," he crowed.

His face fell a second later as he thought of Bruce. "…I hope he's not too worried. I left him a note so he'd know we were coming back, but…he tends to overreact sometimes when he thinks I might get hurt." The bird made a sound low in its throat. "Well yeah, I guess he just does it because he cares about me. It's way worse when _Batman_ thinks I'm in trouble. People tend to get really hurt when they go after me on patrol." His hands flew to his mouth. "Oh, _no_," he moaned. "I'm not supposed to mention that to _anyone_!"

His companion tilted its head to the side, looking almost quizzical. "…I guess it's okay to tell _you_," Dick allowed finally. "I mean, short of there being a supervillain out there who can understand turkey-talk, I guess you can't really tell anyone. I've never heard of anyone like that, and he's made me study the backgrounds on, like, a hundred and fifty bad guys already, so we're probably safe." He stretched. "I should get snow so it can melt while we read. C'mon, Gobbles, we can go outside for just a few minutes. We'll have to be really careful, though."

They stepped into the sunlight, the boy immediately shading his eyes. "Wow, it's bright today. And warm." Stepping a little away from the cave, he scooped clean snow into the empty plastic bag, zipped it shut, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket. "There. Now I just have to wait for it to melt." He whipped around as a heavy _thunk_ filled his ears. _Oh no, someone's coming!_ When no one appeared from the brush, however, he relaxed. _I wonder what that sound was?_ It repeated itself from another direction, and as he turned this time he noticed a small pile of snow resting below a bare spot on a tall tree. "It's falling off of the trees," he deduced. "That's kind of cool. It's like the forest is having a snowball fight, but nobody knows how to throw." A slab fell from another towering evergreen, and he watched it cascade down, his mouth dropping open. "Did you see that, Gobbles? It was like a snow waterfall! A snowfall? Anyway, it was _really _cool."

The bird, he noticed, didn't seem to be paying any attention to him, but was staring towards the cave. Looking in the same direction, Dick discovered that what in the dark had appeared to be just a low bluff actually sat at the base of a tall, steeply sloping, mostly tree-free hill that shone in the early afternoon sun. _I wonder if this is near where Bruce and I went sledding on the other day_. _I dunno, though, there was a road on that hill, and we didn't cross any roads last night. Maybe this is a different hill._ He shrugged. _I guess it doesn't really matter. Although…_ His eyes widened as he looked around. _The snow covered our trail. That's good, it's what I wanted, but…where's home from here? I know we came north, so we should be able to go south, but we were moving from side to side in the trees, too…_ "Oh, no, Gobbles," he said, his voice low with fear. "I think I got us lost."

Chewing his lip, he returned to the cave and sat, pulling his knees to his chest and staring out to where the turkey was still standing with snow plopping to the ground all around. _Okay. I can do this. I just have to remember everything that Bruce and dad ever told me about finding my way in the woods…_ Retrieving a notebook and a pencil, he flipped open a blank page and began to list everything he could recall ever hearing on the subject. "Come back inside, Gobbles," he called after a few minutes of frantic scribbling. When the turkey merely made its trademark sound back at him, he looked up. "C'mon, someone could see you out there._" _The noise was repeated, and his voice elevated in frustration. _It's all going wrong now. We're lost, Gobbles won't come in…we're lost… _"What, are you mad I'm calling you Gobbles? I only shortened it because it's easier than saying 'Gobblehead' every time. It's just a nickname. Come inside!" _I didn't come all this way and get myself in serious trouble just to have you give us away on the first day!_

The third ululation was the loudest yet. "Dude! Seriously!" Slamming his notebook shut, Dick got to his feet, fully intending to go out and haul the creature back into the cave. Before he could take a step, though, something rumbled over his head. "What was that?" he asked nervously. The sound intensified, not quite becoming a roar but definitely growing closer. Shaking himself of his uncertainty, he moved towards the mouth of the cave, intending to find out what was going on.

Just before he ducked outside, a wall of snow crashed down in front of him, throwing the small chamber into utter blackness. Cold flooded around his ankles, and he cried out just as the noise overhead faded into a sliding whisper and ceased. "Gobbles? Gobblehead?!" Blind, he threw himself at the pile blocking his only exit, pounding at it desperately in the hopes that it would fall away.

_I can dig a tunnel, maybe,_ he thought when the blockage didn't yield, trying to breathe deep and calm himself like Bruce had shown him. He clawed for several minutes, pulling the snow into the room and shoving it behind him, searching for light and finding none. He worked quickly, and before long only his lower legs stuck out into the cave. _Almost there, I've got to be almost there…stupid snow…_

The tunnel collapsed around him without warning, drawing another scream from his lips. _Oh, god, oh, god, can't __breathe__,_ he panicked as his face was pushed down by the weight overhead. Flailing wildly, he managed to make enough wiggle room to slide back down into open air, where he sat, gasping and sobbing. "Bruce," he moaned. "Bruuuce, I can't get out. I can't…I'm so scared…" _Calm down,_ he told himself. _You have to calm down, and try again. _"No!" he protested. "I c-can't…Bruce…I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, just get me out of here, I'll never run away again, I swear…pleeease, Bruce, where are you?"

_Calm down. I can't! Calm down! No! _He crawled to the back of the cave and pressed his face against the rough wall. _I'm scared, Bruce. So scared. Save me…_


	10. Chapter 10

As the afternoon waned, Bruce found himself beginning to stumble. _Can't quit now,_ he pushed himself. _Have to keep going. I can't quit until I find him._

Alfred had radioed a short while before to report that there were several worried helpers on their way to help him search. He'd held off on calling the police, he'd explained to Bruce, in what he believed to be in accordance with his wishes. The billionaire had thanked him for that consideration, given him permission to bring in the authorities if they hadn't located the child by nightfall, and then flatly refused to return to the manor. The conversation had ended rather abruptly after that.

The sky was changing color, fading into pinks and purples that he knew meant he was running out of time. _If he didn't freeze last night, he might still be okay,_ he tried to buck himself up. _It was so warm today…if it stays like this tonight, he could be okay through tomorrow, even. _It didn't ease his worry in the least, but the litany did help keep his mind off of all the awful ways he might find him.

He fell to his knees just as a steep grade that bottomed out at a low bluff began to rise on his left. _Damn it, get up,_ he cursed at himself. _Don't you dare fail him like this. Don't you dare. Get up._ Shoving himself violently upwards, he nearly fell again and had to grip a nearby tree for support. He stayed upright, but earned a head full of snow. _There's no way he came this far out. I'm at least two and a half miles from the house. He's nine, how could he walk that far in this snow? __I'm__ having trouble, and I probably had more sleep last night than he did. _He shook his head, a tiny sob escaping him. _I've either passed him, or he never came this way. I feel so useless…I can track Gotham's nastiest across bare city streets, but my own kid manages to elude me on land I grew up on. This is ridiculous!_

As he was about to sink to his knees again, this time from despair rather than pure physical exhaustion, a familiar sound broke through the trees. "…_Gobblehead?"_ he gasped. _No. That's…that's too serendipitous. I'm hearing things, I must be._ The noise repeated, a high-pitched call that carried a note of panic. _Oh, yeah, I've lost it. I'm reading emotion into a turkey's mating calls. Great. At this rate Alfred's search party will have __two__ people to find._ Never one to let a potential lead pass him by, especially when he was at the end of his rope, he pushed off and headed towards the noise. _This is insane_.

Breaking into a clearing at the base of the hill, he jerked to a stop. "It _is_ you!" he stormed, stomping towards the turkey that began to hop and call wildly when it saw him. "What the _hell_ are you doing all the way out here? And where is Dick?" Mounting the pile of snow the bird stood on, he loomed over it in the last of the daylight. "_Where is he?_"

Gobblehead fluffed up all his feathers, hissed, and then began to peck at the snow around Bruce's feet.

"I swear to god, bird, I will break your neck myself if I don't find him safe," he swore. As he finished, two sharp blows hit his leg, one drawing a tiny drop of blood. "Hey!" He lashed out with his foot, not intending to hurt the animal but wanting to send a message. The creature backed away several feet, then came forward again and continued to call and shove its beak into the ground.

_Okay, that's not normal. He shouldn't come back to me after I kicked at him, at least not unless he's attacking. But he isn't._ Peering into the trees in the deepening gloom, he searched for any sign of his son. "Dick!" he screamed in frustration, seeing nothing. At his feet, the turkey gobbled in annoyance. "_What?!_" he barked back at it.

Staring down at the bird, he finally caught something. _The snow's different,_ he realized. Sweeping his gaze around the clearing, he discerned where the ground cover changed, going from rolling and tumbled to smooth. His eyes climbed the hill, following the trail of disarray upwards. _There was a slide. There was a slide, and I'll bet anything that they were right here when it happened. That's why Gobblehead is pecking at the snow; __Dick's underneath of it._"Oh, Christ, no," he moaned, dropping down and beginning to dig frantically alongside the game bird.

In his fear, time seemed to slow. It took him fifteen minutes to shove enough packed powder out of the way to discover the entrance to the cave, and another three to clear a space large enough to let him shove himself inside, but it felt like hours. _Please, baby, please,_ he whined internally, not noticing as his gloves and the knees of his pants soaked through. He called his name constantly, his ears aching to hear a response of some sort. He slid into the room feet first, and was immediately struck by the stuffiness of the air. _Oxygen depletion. He's in here somewhere. _The only satisfying breathing material was what was leaking in through the man-sized hole that had let him into the room. Terrified of what he was about to find, he flicked on his flashlight and focused it on the ground. When the beam reached the back wall of the cave, the tool dropped from his fingers.

"Dick, honey, please, _please_ wake up," he begged, pulling the cold little figure away from the wall and into his arms. Rushing back to where he'd come in, he stopped only to pick up the flashlight before pushing the boy up through the hole and out onto the snow, scrabbling his way up behind him. He jammed the light into the snow bank and moved into the area it illuminated, cradling the unresponsive form he hadn't yet stopped speaking to. "C'mon, kiddo, there's plenty of good air out here, _c'mon_…" His fingers pressed into the boy's neck, found something faint and far away, and flew up to his face, testing. Nothing. Before he could even register what he needed to do, he'd done it, exhaling hard into the child's mouth, once, twice, a third and a fourth time, and _finally_, finally getting results. His ears picked up a tiny gasp, then another much larger one, the small body jerking as his lungs caught the oxygen and quested for more.

"Oh, god," the man let out, almost collapsing in top of him in relief as the needy breaths continued on their own. "Oh, god." _That was too close. Too close. If Gobblehead hadn't been going crazy, if I hadn't caught that we were standing on a slide, if I'd been thirty seconds slower…no. No, don't think about it. He's here. He's breathing. He's alive._

Recovering himself slowly, he felt his son's skin and found it still cold. _Well, he was all but dead, I shouldn't be surprised,_ he shuddered. Resting the boy's head on his shoulder, he pulled him in tight and zipped his jacket closed around them both. _There, that should help._ He looked up to find a softly cooing turkey hunkered down next to him, its beak probing softly at the child-shaped lump under his coat. "…Thank you, Gobblehead," Bruce said quietly. "Thank you."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his radio. "Alfred. Call off the search."

"You've found him?!"

The billionaire couldn't help but grin as he heard a rare exclamation in the butler's voice. "I have him. He'll be all right, I think, once we get him warm and let him get a little rest."

"Oh, thank heaven," came back. "Where are you? I've just had a skidoo delivered with the thought of making the search more efficient, I'll bring it out and pick you up."

Bruce looked around in the light of the pale rising moon. "…You know," he said in wonder, "I think we're _behind_ the north hill."

"…Is the hill quite steep and treeless, sir? Looks as if it would be prone to avalanches?"

"Alfred, that's _exactly_ what this place looks like."

"My goodness, that's an extraordinarily long way for him to have walked."

"Tell me about it," he answered. "I barely made it this far."

"Well. He's safe, so there will be plenty of time for questions later, I suppose. I'll see you shortly, Master Wayne."

"Thanks, Alfred." He tucked the radio away and moved his hand up to cradle the head on his shoulder, beginning to rock back and forth slowly. The boy stirred slightly against him, his gloved hand curling into the neck of his guardian's shirt as he coughed, and Bruce couldn't keep a tear from running down his cheek. "Hush, Dicky," he whispered. "It's all right now." As he spoke, the strangest urge overcame him, a lost memory from a time long before that of the child in his arms. Frowning – _what is wrong with me, I don't __sing__ – _he tried to fight the urge, but couldn't. Dick coughed again, hard enough this time to draw a quiet moan, and he gave in, allowing a low, not unpleasantly off-key lullaby to pass through his lips.

"_Au clair de la lune_

_Mon ami __Pierrot_

_Prête-moi ta plume_

_Pour écrire un mot_

_Ma chandelle est morte_

_Je n'ai plus de feu_

_Ouvre-moi ta porte_

_Pour l'amour de Dieu…"_

In his fitful unconsciousness, the boy smiled, and dreamt of his mother's happy face.

**Author's Note: There will be one more chapter, full of flufftastic 'Oh my god so glad you're not dead' goodness. Decisions regarding Gobblehead will also be made, but honestly, can you imagine Bruce still wanting to eat the bird at this point? Spoiler; there will be a frozen turkey centerpiecing the Wayne Thanksgiving this year.** **As always, thanks for reading, and to those of you to whom this applies, Happy Thanksgiving!**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, this chapter was way longer than I thought it would be! A couple of people asked about the song Bruce was singing in the previous chapter; it's the first verse of 'Au Clair de la Lune,' a French folk song turned lullaby. Thanks to everyone for reading, and double thanks to those of you who have reviewed! I hope you all enjoy this not-so-little conclusion.**

Bruce would never forget Alfred's expression when the butler climbed off of the snowmachine twenty minutes later and rushed to them. "He's all right, Alfred," he assured him.

"…Terribly pale," the Englishman murmured, resting the back of his hand on the boy's cheek. "And cold," he frowned.

"He's not hypothermic, at least I don't think he is. It's a long story," he explained.

"Dr. Thompkins was out searching when your call came in. She said she would return to the manor immediately and wait for us there in case either of you require medical attention. The others will have left by the time we return, although they all expressed how glad they were that he'd been found safe." He gripped Bruce's elbow lightly, steadying him as he got to his feet. "Do you have him, sir?"

"We're good." He looked down at Gobblehead. "We've got to get the bird home, too."

"I must admit, Master Wayne, I'll be very pleased to be rid of the troublemaker."

"No!" Bruce objected quickly. "…No. We can't kill the turkey, Alfred. We're…we're just going to have to have a frozen one this year."

"A _frozen_ turkey, sir?" he asked cautiously, looking as if he suspected that his elder charge had taken a blow to the head.

"Long story short, Gobblehead is the only reason Dick's alive right now instead of suffocated under a ton of snow."

"…Pardon me?"

"He was hiding out in the cave there," he jerked his head towards where the hole he'd dug could just be made out. "There was a slide that blocked the entrance. The bird was outside, Dick was inside. I don't know how long he was in there, in the dark, by himself, but I'm guessing it was at least a few hours, because by the time I found him there wasn't enough air to keep a canary alive." His voice dropped to just above a whisper, arms tightening possessively around the child zipped against him. "He wasn't breathing when I pulled him out. He had a pulse – barely – but he wasn't breathing. I only found him as quickly as I did because I heard Gobblehead calling, and then saw him pecking at the snow. If it hadn't been for that, I would have been too late."

"…Well," the butler sighed, his voice slightly uneven. He wanted to rip the boy away and cradle him himself, but he somehow managed to exercise enough restraint to only reach out and stroke his face again. "I suppose a frozen turkey will cut down on the preparation time massively. That will be a nice change." His eyes narrowed as Dick gave another hoarse cough. "Especially since it sounds as if the young master won't be going to school tomorrow. We ought to get him home, sir, and to bed."

"…How the hell did he get the bird out here, though? I can't imagine that they both walked all this way."

"I don't know, sir. I'll check the cave, though, before we leave. I would hate to leave behind anything he brought with him, and there may be something that sheds light on our quandary."

"…Yeah, okay. It should have had enough time to air out by now." He watched as the other man slipped down out of sight. A moment later, a brightly colored plastic sled was pushed up, followed by a backpack. Alfred emerged immediately thereafter, panting slightly.

"Good heavens, you weren't exaggerating about the state of things. The air is still very close in there," the butler advised. "This is everything there was."

Seeing the sled, Gobblehead walked over, stepped onto it, and settled down.

"…So that's how he did it. The turkey just sat on the sled and let him pull it out here. Huh." Bruce shook his head. "Smart bird."

"I'll hitch the sled to the skidoo, Master Wayne, and we'll be on our way," Alfred said, also marveling at the unusual intelligence of their would-be Thanksgiving dinner. "I must say, I've never encountered a bird quite like this one."

"Well, we're a family of misfits," Bruce replied. "I guess one more won't hurt."

"…Are you proposing that we keep the creature?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes. He'll be heartbroken if we send Gobblehead away, especially if he goes anywhere that someone might even hypothetically decide to eat him."

"Very true, sir. I'll arrange for a larger, more attractive shed to be constructed behind the house. I believe we owe him that much, at least." He straightened from tying the turkey's sleigh up.

"Thanks, Alfred. Are we ready?"

"Yes, Master Wayne."

The billionaire settled onto the snowmachine carefully, pinning Dick in a warm pocket between himself and Alfred. He cast one last look around the clearing, knowing that the memory of how close he'd come to losing his son here would be a potent motivator the next time he was having trouble pulling himself away from work to spend time with him. Finally, he rested his eyes on Gobblehead, well aware that there would be times ahead when he would regret allowing the turkey to reside on the manor grounds and wanting to keep the great service the animal had done him today in the back of his head. "Okay. Let's go."

They returned at a much slower speed than Alfred had come out to them at. _I'll have to have the rental extended on this. I'll bet Dick would love it_, Bruce thought as they pulled up to the rear of the house. As he carried the boy inside, he looked back to see Gobblehead rise from the sled and walk over to the door of the shed, waiting to be let inside.

"Oh, thank god," Leslie exclaimed, meeting them just inside the door. "Let's get him in bed. I'll examine him there."

Bruce was sweating as they mounted the stairs, but he didn't want to open his coat until he had to, still able to feel how cool the pale face against his neck was. He heard her steps falter for a moment as he led her into his bedroom rather than Dick's. "I'm not going to be able to leave him tonight," he explained before she could say anything. _Or probably for the next week,_ he didn't add. "And my bed is bigger than his."

"…It's your house, Bruce. I wasn't planning on asking."

"Good," he said brusquely, sitting on the mattress and slowly unzipping his jacket. Leslie's hands hovered nearby, but he had no intention of letting his ward fall, and easily guided the small body downward. He stopped only to shrug off his own winter gear before going to work on the boy's.

"You're good at that," she commented, observing.

"Practice," he muttered back, passing articles of clothing over his shoulder to her. He didn't see her smile at his answer, too consumed with the lithe little form in front of him to notice.

As she took the child's coat, her hand touched something odd in one of the pockets. "…Bruce?" she asked, pulling it out and frowning at it.

"What?" he asked, turning to find her holding a plastic sandwich bag full of water. _Why would he have…oh, Dicky, my clever little bird._ "Drinking water," he told her, a proud grin inching across his lips. "He filled the bag with snow and put it in his pocket so his body heat could melt it."

"How would he have known to do that?" she marveled, setting it down on the nightstand. "Most _adults_ who get lost in the woods wouldn't think to do that."

"He pays attention, Leslie. He doesn't miss much, and that goes double for when he's being trained."

"...Trained for _what_?" she asked, her voice dropping suspiciously.

He grimaced. _Damn._ He'd forgotten that he hadn't yet let Leslie in on the fact that he'd taken the boy as his partner in his nightly quests. He'd known she would have to find out eventually, but he'd hoped to delay it as long as possible, well aware that she wouldn't approve. There were rumors on the street that Batman had been seen with a brightly colored shadow, but they hadn't been out together enough yet for that addendum to his urban legend to become known fact, and he'd been careful not to make any big busts with his young partner alongside him. The more time and training that passed before the truly evil specters of Gotham knew about the child, the better. The few injuries that Robin had received on patrol had been minor enough to be patched without calling in outside help, so there had not seemed to be a need to tell her. _There's no avoiding it now, though,_ he thought. _And she should probably be informed before I need her to look at him from something night work related, in any case. _"…You've heard people talking about Batman having a new, uh, helper? A partner?" he asked slowly.

"Yes, I've heard vague rumors," she replied sharply. "But surely you're not…" she trailed off, seeing the tenseness in his shoulders. "You _are_. You've been training a nine-year-old _child_ to attack dangerous criminals." She shook her head, aghast. "With all due respect to your wonderful mother, you son of a bitch."

"You don't understand, Leslie," he breathed, stripping the boy now of his regular clothing and running his hands gently over his limbs, searching for damage.

"You're right, I don't. I don't understand because it's completely unfathomable." Fuming, she moved to the opposite side of the bed and also sat, doing her own checks. "It's _criminal_, Bruce." Her fingers found a fresh scar on one thin upper arm, and she winced. "…Did you do this to him?" she demanded.

"No," he answered steadily, pulling a blanket over the still unconscious Dick. "An asshole mugger did." It had been the only time thus far that he'd required stitches, the most serious wound he'd received. Alfred had sewn it up easily, and it had healed fast and well.

"This is wrong. Can't you see that?" She was about to go on when Alfred entered the room. "Were you aware of this?" she accused, whirling on him.

"…I assume from the high level of animosity coming from you both that you are referring to Master Dick's Robin persona?" he inquired calmly, handing her a compact first aid kit.

"Is that what he's calling himself? Robin?"

"Yes," Bruce answered, keeping his eyes riveted to the child in questions' face. _I wish you'd wake up, chum. Even for just a minute. _

"Please allow me assure you, Dr. Thompkins, that every precaution is being taken in the matter of Robin. His training has been and will continue to be extensive and thorough, and he is not allowed out without Batman's direct supervision."

"_He. Is. A. Child,"_ she hissed. "This isn't a game, you both know that! If the wrong person gets ahold of him, or he doesn't move fast enough in the heat of battle…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "You know what could happen!"

"Yes. I do," Bruce snapped. "And so does he. I don't like to think about what might happen, Leslie; I prefer to just be grateful every night he comes home alive and relatively unhurt. And for right now, he's not allowed out of my sight when he's in costume, like Alfred said. I am being as cautious about this as I possibly can be. You know the circumstances that led to his being here; he needs this as much as I did when I started. And what's more is, he's _good_ at it. Very good. And he's only going to get better with time and training. I know you don't approve; I didn't expect you to. But I would like to know that your dissatisfaction with the partnership of Batman and Robin won't prevent you from helping us when we need it." His gaze caught and held hers piercingly as one of his ward's hands disappeared between both of his.

"…I hate this, Bruce. I can tell you now that I will _always_ hate that you've brought him into this. To throw such an open, trusting child into such a world…"

"He was already in the world, Leslie, and had already seen its dark side. What did you expect me to do, lie to him about the way things really are? I couldn't do that. Not after what he'd already been through. He wouldn't have believed me if I'd tried, he's far too smart for that. He would have gone looking for answers, asking _why_, regardless of what I told him. This way at least I can exert some level of control over the experience and try to keep him safe while he learns what he needs and wants to."

"I see your point, but I still think you're wrong."

"…So you won't help us anymore?" he asked, trying to sound neutral.

She turned her head away. "Of course I'll still help you. It's like you said, I suppose, about controlling the experience; if I walk away now, and something awful happens, I'll always wonder if I could have done something. I'm still on call for you. And you had _better_ call, especially when it involves Dick." Her eyes sparked. "That needs to be very clearly understood, by the both of you."

"Of course, Dr. Thompkins," Alfred inclined his head.

"You know I will, Leslie," Bruce agreed, relieved. "Now, would you please tell me he'll be all right?"

"Not until I know as much for myself," she replied, slipping her stethoscope into her ears. "Sit him up for me."

The billionaire held him quietly while she performed her examination. "Well?" he asked when she seemed finished.

"He seems fine. His breathing is a little rough, but I think it will ease." She looked at him suspiciously. "What are you not telling me?"

"He wasn't breathing when I found him," he explained, giving her a quick rundown of the situation in the cave.

"And you waited until now to mention it?" she snapped.

"He still had a pulse. Once I got him outside and gave him a few rescue breaths he came right back, so I thought he was okay, but…I don't know, he hasn't woken up since then."

Grimacing, she repeated several of her tests. "You said he still had a pulse, he just wasn't actively breathing?"

"Yes. It was faint – another thirty seconds and I don't think he would have had one – but it was there."

"Well, I'm a little more concerned with the way he's breathing now that I know that, but if he still had a pulse when you found him he probably didn't suffer any long term damage," she opined. "My guess is that the reason he hasn't woken up yet is mostly just sheer exhaustion. How far did you say he'd walked?"

"Nearly three miles," Alfred replied. "In approximately eighteen inches of snow."

"While hauling a thirty-plus pound turkey," Bruce added.

"Well, that's enough to wipe anyone out, especially when you throw hypoxia into the mix." She sighed. "He may have aspirated a little saliva, or even a small amount of snow, if he was actually caught _in_ the slide. You'll have to watch him for signs of pneumonia. If it looks like it's starting to develop, or if something else changes, call me." She leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the child's forehead. "I'll come by day after tomorrow to check in if I don't hear from you before then."

"Thank you, Leslie."

"You're welcome," she said a little harshly. "I'm still upset with you about this whole Robin business. I want you to know that."

"I know. But it's not going to change."

"I know. That would mean you'd have to admit to being wrong." She turned to Alfred. "Would you mind seeing me out?"

"Of course, Dr. Thompkins."

Once they'd left, Bruce lay down and pulled Dick against him. _Poor Alfred,_ he reflected. _I'll bet Leslie gives him an earful about this._ Uncomfortable on his side, he rolled over, pulling the boy up to rest on top of him. "There," he whispered, wrapping his arms around the slight form after he straightened the blankets out over them both. "Nice and warm." Placing a hand on his back, he frowned. _I see what Leslie was saying about the way you're breathing, kiddo,_ he thought. _Kind of rough. Maybe you shouldn't be laying down._ Sitting up, he arranged the pillows against the headboard so that they were reclining, and felt the coarseness in child's lungs ease almost immediately. "That's better," he sighed into his hair. "Good," he encouraged as Dick coughed hard. "Get it out of there."

He coughed again, and this time Bruce could hear something trying to come up. Reaching for the tissues on the nightstand, he patted his back gently until he got what he wanted, catching the discolored sputum as it appeared. After another two or three hard exhalations, there was an obvious difference in his breathing, and the billionaire felt himself relax.

"Master Wayne? Is he all right?" Alfred asked concernedly as he came back into the room. "I could hear him coughing from the stairs."

"He was just getting rid of whatever he aspirated," he explained, indicating the pile of used paper.

"Has his breathing improved since, sir?"

"Yeah. We're _much_ better now," he answered, closing his eyes as his fingers combed through tangled locks.

"Perhaps you should consider changing for the night," the butler suggested, sensing that his elder charge was about to drop off into sleep fully clothed.

"No. I don't want to move. He seems comfortable now, I don't want to mess it up."

"…As you wish, sir," he conceded, smiling slightly. The scene before him was more than enough to counter his unhappiness after the lecture he'd received from a very unhappy Dr. Thompkins. "I'll inform your office that you will be out again tomorrow."

"You do that, Alfred," he yawned.

The light had just gone out and the door closed behind the Englishman when Bruce felt the weight on his chest shift. He waited to see if it would happen again, and reached over for the lamp when he heard a murmur. The boy in his arms wriggled slightly, seemingly trying to push himself even closer to the man holding him. "Mmm. Br…" The word was only half-formed, but it didn't take a genius to figure out whose name he was uttering.

"Right here, kiddo," he assured him. "Right here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Bruce…scared…" The whisper was pathetic, tormented, and it broke his heart.

"Hush," he squeezed him hard. "Hush. You're safe. You're with me. It's okay, little bird. We're home." A tiny cry reached his ears. "No, Dicky, don't. Don't cry." _I can't take it if you do._ "You're safe now. No more snow. I promise. You're warm and safe and with me. Wake up, and I'll prove it to you. C'mon. Wake up. Look at me."

_I'm dreaming,_ the boy thought blearily. _I can't be home. I'm still in the cave. The oxygen must be getting low, that's why I'm hearing things. I shouldn't have cried myself to sleep. I should have tried again, and now I won't be able to. Now I…now I think I might die here. _"Bruce!" he sobbed.

"Right here, chum, I'm _right here_. Stop crying, it's over. You're safe. You're safe." He sat up and started to rock, wondering if he was going to have to start singing again just to end whatever nightmare he was having.

_That…that sounded like him, though. Is it? Am I safe? He wouldn't lie to me. _He took a deep breath, preparing to call his name again just to hear his voice. His eyes flew open in shock when he caught good air instead of the stale, useless gases he could last remember feeling fill his lungs, and he found himself in a comfortingly familiar place. _Bruce. Safe. __Bruce._ "…Bruce?" he whispered disbelievingly.

"Hush," came back from over his head. He craned his neck and found wet eyes staring down at him.

"Is this real? I'm not dead?"

"No, baby," he told him, unable to keep a few tears from escaping as he cupped his face. "You're alive. I promise."

"…Yay," he grinned slowly.

"'Yay' is right," he gave a choked laugh. _Oh, god, you're fine. Practically dead in my arms an hour ago, and now you're just…you're just fine. You're unreal, Dick Grayson. Absolutely beautiful. _On the tail of that thought, nimble little fingers tripped across his cheeks, dabbing away the moisture that had fallen.

"Don't cry, Bruce," the boy pouted, trying to make the tears go away.

"Don't scare me like that again and I won't have a reason to," he retorted weakly. "How do you feel?"

"Tired. Kind of hurts to breathe. And I'm sore _everywhere_." He coughed a little more, made an awful face, and swallowed. "Eew. That was gross."

"You aspirated some fluid. That's why it hurts to breathe. It's not too bad, is it? You've coughed a lot up already."

"No, it's not too bad. Just kind of achy."

"Okay. You're not going to school tomorrow, though, just in case. Maybe I'll just pull you for the rest of the week, since it's short anyway."

"Oh, no." His voice was heavy with dread at the mention of school. "…It's still only Sunday, isn't it?"

"Yes. Why?"

"…Where's Gobblehead?"

"He's fine. He's in his shed."

"Please don't eat him." Now _his_ eyes were wet. "Please, Bruce, I'm sorry I broke my promise, but please, you can't kill him!"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down," he soothed. "No one is going to eat that turkey. Ever."

"…Really? You mean it?"

"Dick, Gobblehead saved your life. The least I can do is spare his."

"He _did_? How?"

"He…showed me where to find you." He left it at that, seeing no need to give the child any more details.

"…It was more than that, wasn't it?" came back a moment later, the boy studying his face closely.

"Let's not talk about it, okay? Let's just rest."

"…So it was that close." He shuddered, and was pulled tighter against his guardian. _I wasn't far off. I __did__ almost die._

"I said I didn't want to talk about it right now," he said sternly. "You having one of your preternatural moments and realizing exactly what I was hoping not to tell you doesn't change how I feel about it."

"Okay. Sorry." He reached up and encircled the man's neck with his arms. "Thank you for finding me."

"I'll always come for you," he swore. "Always."

"I know. I'll always come for you, too. Even if I can't do much right now."

"…I know. And you can do a lot more than you think, by the way." He felt him shrug and decided he needed validation. "You pulled Gobblehead almost three miles last night."

"_Whoa_! No wonder I'm so tired!" He paused. "…Are you mad at me?" he asked in a small voice.

"I probably should be."

"…Yeah."

"But I'm mostly just relieved as hell."

"Bad word," he reminded him.

"It's appropriate in this situation. No penalty."

"…Does that mean that I can use it?"

"Absolutely not."

"Darn. It was worth a try."

"Sorry, kiddo. Besides, Alfred would have a fit if he heard you swearing."

"Yeah, that wouldn't be good. Is _he_ mad at me?"

"You'll probably get a lecture, but I'm thinking the fact that he'll be hugging you the whole time will kind of take away from the force of the message."

"What about Thanksgiving?"

"We'll have a frozen turkey. Is that okay?"

"Sure. I mean, that turkey's already dead, so someone might as well eat it. And it's not Gobblehead, which is the most important part." He snuggled close, sleepiness invading him again. "He needs a nicer house. His is kind of small and boring."

"Alfred's already said he's going to work on it."

"Mmm. Okay." He yawned. "…Are you going to work tomorrow?"

"No. But I'm going in on Tuesday and Wednesday. _Only_ to get this merger wrapped up. Next weekend, no work, I promise. We'll have fun."

"I had fun this weekend, too. I…I understand if you need to work."

"I appreciate that, but _I_ understand that _you_ need to play. So next weekend, no work. In fact, I'm making an early New Year's resolution."

"What is it?"

"At least one weekend every month I will bring absolutely no work home with me. That will be you and I's special weekend to do something together."

He beamed up at him. "That's so cool, Bruce. I'm excited."

"Me, too, kiddo."

"What're we gonna do next weekend?"

"Well," he lay back against the pillows, stroking his spine as he spoke. "Thursday is Thanksgiving, so we'll be here, stuffing our faces. Then on Friday everyone and their cousins will be out at the stores, so I'm thinking we should avoid that."

"We could go ice skating again. Then it would just be you and me."

"You and I," he corrected gently.

"You and I," Dick repeated. "And maybe more sledding?"

"Sure," he agreed. "Ice skating and sledding. Then on Saturday I thought we'd go see _The Nutcracker_."

"Ooh, I've never seen that!" he squealed.

"Good. You'll like it," he smiled.

"And Sunday?"

"Well…would you like to go out to a farm and pick out a big tree for Christmas? We'll have to walk around in the snow, but I figure you're a pro at that now, so…"

"Yes! Yes, please! Can we go someplace kind of far away? I like driving through the country in winter," he said. "It's so pretty."

"Of course. We'll ask Alfred to find something a couple counties over."

"This is going to be so much fun," he sighed happily. "I can't wait until next weekend." For all that he was clearly eager, his exhaustion was creeping back into his voice as he lay limply on top of Bruce.

"I've got one more surprise for you," the billionaire told him quietly.

"Hmm? What is it?"

"You know Flash?"

"I've heard you talk about him."

"His nephew just started doing night work, like you. He's around your age."

"…Really?! Do you think I could meet him? Maybe we could be friends!"

"Well, that was my thought. If you want, I'll call Flash this week and see what he says. Maybe we can get you kids together sometime soon. But," he added an injunction. "you have to promise me you won't reveal your identity unless I say you can."

"Okay!" he agreed quickly. "I promise!"

"Hey," he tilted his chin upwards and gave him a serious look. "This is important, Dick. I need you to be sure about this. You _cannot_ tell him who you really are without my permission. No slips of the tongue, no helping him figure it out, none of that. Do you understand and agree to those terms?"

From his guardian's tone, the boy easily surmised that this would be the second most important promise he'd ever made to him. He nodded slowly. "I understand, Bruce. I won't tell him without permission, even if he becomes my very best friend. I promise."

"Good," he said firmly, although a little something quaked inside of him at the thought of the child in his arms having a 'very best friend' who wasn't him.

Dick saw the tiny glint of hurt in the man's eyes. "Don't worry, Bruce," he said gravely. "You'll still be my very bestest best friend. I just meant, like, if he becomes my second best friend. You'll still always be first."

The words and their serious mien caused a broad smile to spread across the billionaire's face. "Thank you, chum. That means a lot to me."

"I know," he sighed back, dropping his head back down. "Me, too." He yawned hugely. "G'night, Bruce."

"Goodnight, son," he breathed back, cradling him. "Sweet dreams."

As he passed into sleep, his ears filled with his child's quiet breathing, he would have sworn he heard the distant sound of a turkey gobble. The corner of his mouth turned up. _Goodnight to you, too, Gobblehead._


End file.
